


Turquoise

by StillFeelLikeATeenager



Category: One Tree Hill
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 157,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillFeelLikeATeenager/pseuds/StillFeelLikeATeenager
Summary: “Nate, you’re not just my best friend; you’re the best guy I know.  Everything you’ve dealt with the past year and a half? You’ve just shown such amazing character and I’m so proud of you. And through everything, you’ve always kept an eye on everyone else; you look after us all. And today? That look … just taking that second to check in with me. It meant a lot. And when he threw me his look? It just brought it all home. He has been an absolute jerk to me for months. He has treated me far worse than you ever did and yet he had the nerve to throw me this look, right before he said I do. I don’t even know what that look was but it felt like an accusation, like it’s my fault that he was in that church getting married and I don’t even know why a word like ‘fault’ should come to mind, but it did and that’s how it felt to me, like that’s what he was saying to me; that he was blaming me. And I thought that when he said it, I do, I mean, that I’d feel like someone had put a knife in my heart ... or my guts. But there was nothing. Like ... absolutely nothing. I’m completely and utterly done … and I really don’t care anymore whether he is happy or not happy. I don’t care if he’s making a mistake … because it’s his mistake to make.”





	1. Early June

**Author's Note:**

> What you need to know.  
> In my head, series 5 Nathan and Peyton would have been an amazing couple. So here's my story where they are. It's long but it is finished so if you like it you can stick with it without fear of it tapering off and never having a happy ending.  
> Pretty much canon up to the Lucas and Lindsay wedding except that: Lindsey is a somewhat (okay, much!) bitchier version and Haley gets dragged into that; the Lucas and Lindsey wedding doesn’t get rushed forward so the period in between Lucas’ proposal to Lindsey and the wedding is longer; Lindsey does say I Do; Nathan’s accident was caused by a drunk driver not a bar room brawl, and some other stuff that will become apparent during the story. There is no Jamie, and Carrie is therefore a part time housekeeper rather than a nanny. Not for Naley fans. Sorry about that. At the time of the Lucas and LIndsey wedding, Nathan and Haley have been divorced for six months. And there is some racy stuff.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Nope, don't own the characters other than the ones that are originals. But it's my storyline. And obviously plagiarism is reprehensible ... so don't do it!

She’s sitting at the bar, slowly turning a glass on a coaster, occasionally taking a sip. He watches for a few more moments, then turns his head, nods to the concerned looking brunette he’s been talking to for the last few minutes, then approaches the bar and sits on the stool next to her.

“Sawyer.”

“Scott. How’s things?”

“Not bad. More to the point, how are you doing?”

He’s watching her keenly. It’s the same look she’s been getting from almost everyone she knows for the last few weeks. Well, months.

“Good. Really good, actually.”

He continues looking at her for a few moments, then down at her drink and raises a sceptical looking eyebrow.

“Alright Sawyer, which is it?”

She’s not sure what he means. “Good or really good?”

“No … you’re drinking Scotch.”

“Oh ... which Scotch is it? Just the standard.”

She leans over to him and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Apparently only the ‘bridal party’ are allowed the good stuff, or so the bartender tells me … though I suspect he has instructions from the bride that are more specifically related to not giving _me_ the good stuff”

“Not what I meant but … _seriously?_ He won’t give you the decent whiskey?”

Peyton nods and laughs.

“It’s fine, Nate. It’s not like I’m an aficionado when it comes to Scotch. I probably couldn’t tell the difference anyway.”

“Wrong on both counts; it’s not fine and you could tell the difference.”

Nathan gestures to the bartender, who moves over to them immediately.

“Two Scotches, and not this crap either. ‘Moranghie.”

“Um ... sir ... only the bridal …”

“Yeah I know … see this lame ass rose in my buttonhole? This designates me as the Best Man. That means I’m in the bridal party. And that means you’ll get me, and my friend here, two ‘Moranghies. Thanks.”

Maybe it’s because he’s legit, or maybe it’s just because when Nathan uses a ‘don’t fuck with me tone’, people do tend to listen. The bartender obliges and when Peyton takes a sip, her eyes close in appreciation and she smiles.

“You’re right. I can tell the difference. Cheers, Best Man!”

He picks up his drink, they gently clink glasses together and they each sip.

“So, Scott … Brooke got to you huh?”

“Brooke? What do you …?”

“Oh please, Nathan … she’s sent you over to check on poor heartbroken P. Sawyer, hasn’t she?”

“No.”

Peyton just looks at him with her eyebrow raised. As if he could get that one past her when she’s known him as long as she has. He concedes defeat almost immediately. That damn eyebrow should be registered as an instrument of torture, he thinks.

“Yeah … okay.  How did you know?”

“Well now, not to give away my secrets and don’t you dare give _me_ away to the Brookie Monster, but you may notice that there are angled mirrors up above the bar.”

“And?”

“Your little tete-a-tete with B. Davis a few minutes ago was reflected right above my head. Besides, she’s tackled me four ... no five ... times herself since the ceremony. She was bound to bring in reinforcements eventually, and last time I told her I’d do her bodily harm if she asked me again. Lucky you; you got sent into the fray instead!”

“That sneaky …. she set me up so I’d be on the receiving end of the bodily harm!”

“Totally. But I know B. Davis better than anyone and, should you be interested in a little get-your-own-back, my services are at your disposal!”

“Tell me more, oh wise one,” he chuckles. “No one plays Nathan Scott and gets away with it.”

“Right ... .so knowing our dear friend Brooke, she set you up with some sort of signal to send back to her, yeah?”

“You are _good_ , Sawyer.”

“And tonight’s signals are?”

“If you’re dangerously not okay and freaking, I’m to put my arm around your shoulders and give you a hug, in which case she’ll swoop in and drag you out of here on the pretext of some sort of Bitch-toria emergency. And if you’re actually okay-ish and don’t need to be swept away by search and rescue Davis style, I’m to rub my hand up and down your back a little in a mildly comforting sort of way.”

Peyton flicks her eyes up seemingly casually and spots Brooke in the mirror, watching anxiously, arms folded and foot tapping. Not conspicuous at all, Brooke!

“Well ... she’s waiting, dude … wanna mess with her meddlesome head a bit?”

“Sure. What’s the plan? Do something else altogether?”

“Nope. Do both … it’ll confuse the hell out of her.”

He smirks at her, then leans over and places his arm around her shoulder, hand squeezing in what she assumes is supposed to be a comforting gesture but really it just feels familiar, warm. Okay, so yeah; comforting then.

“You’re very crafty, Sawyer,” he murmurs near her ear.

“I’ve been playing the B. Davis game a long time, you know that. She looks like she’s about to start walking; time to be confusing, Scott.”

Nathan slides his hand off her shoulder and down her back, across to her waist, down to her hip, back up, repeating the movement a few times, his hand gliding over the silky, flowing fabric of her silvery coloured top. Peyton turns to look at him, smiling a little, thinking that it’s nice to have a strong hand at her back, a strong guy she trusts implicitly. He returns the smile, pleased to see it. It’s been too long since her smile reached her eyes. Brooke, on the other hand, has halted in her tracks.

Nathan and Peyton both turn and look up at the mirror, meeting Brooke’s eyes in it and lift their glasses as if toasting to her. She stomps her foot, knowing she’s been played, turns on her heel and stalks off, shaking her head but smiling. If Peyton is participating in games, Brooke knows she must be okay-ish … at least for now.

The pair at the bar touch glass rims again, a tiny celebratory gesture in what both expected to be a tough day. Nathan is the first to speak again.

“Victory is ours, my friend, victory is ours.”

“So before, you said _which is it_ ; if you didn’t mean which Scotch, what did you mean?”

“Sawyer, I have known you a long, _long_ time and you only drink Scotch when something momentous has happened ... something momentously _good_ or something momentously _bad_. So, which is it?”

“Momentous? Geeze … big words, Nate.”

He’s really not sure whether she’s doing that thing she does, where she masks the pain with sarcastic jibes, or whether she’s actually just enjoying their light-hearted banter.

“Big word for a big day, Peyton. A tough day for you. I … I haven’t checked in with you this week. I meant to but the last-minute Best Man thing’s been a bit …”

“Yeah ... what happened there? I thought Skills was Best Man? I mean … it always _should’ve_ been you but you and Lucas weren’t really speaking when they set the date.”

“Skills pulled out while we were out on the stag night last weekend. He got trolleyed. Luke made some shitty remark about how you were maybe not going to be at the wedding and weren’t being a very good friend. And Skills just let rip; told Lucas he couldn’t be part of it anymore, that he wouldn’t watch his oldest friend in the world make the biggest mistake of his life and that he wouldn’t stand around and listen to Luke talking shit about you either.”

“Wow,” she says blinking rapidly. “I haven’t heard _a thing_ about this. The gossip mill has failed. Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Then he said Luke had been an absolute dick to you, that you were just about the best girl in the world and Luke didn’t deserve to have you as an acquaintance let alone as a guest at his wedding or anything more ... like a friend.”

“Wow. Again. You know … I always liked Skills!”

“So yeah … I’m sorry, Sawyer. I know this last week must’ve been tough, and like I said, I meant to …”

He’s genuinely sorry, too. She can see that. She can see the wheels turning; he’s convincing himself that she’s done so much for him and he should at least have checked in a couple of times over the last week. Actually, she’s kind of glad he didn’t. The fewer people that saw the mess she was earlier in the week, the better.

“Nathan, it’s fine.  These last few days have been tough, I’ll admit that. But today, actually, not so much.”

“Yeah? Really?” he asks.

“Truly.”

Nathan searches her face and sees that she _really_ means it.  That deep-seated pain that’s been present for months, that she’s tried so hard to hide, then tried so hard to confront and to work her way through, has all but gone.

“You look like the switch has been flicked,” he says, with maybe a little bit of wonder.

“That’s kind of a perfect way of describing it.”

“I’m glad, Peyt. It … I hated seeing you like that. You’re better than all that crap. You’re better and you deserve better.”

Her responding smile is warm and genuine and she doesn’t do her usual deflecting thing when someone says something nice to her.  She nods, and bumps her shoulder into him gently in thanks.

“So, tell me what did it?” he continues. “What flicked the switch?”

“Well ... you know ... outside the church we were joking around … Skills and I … he was saying things like how we should drug Lindsey and I should put the dress on and march up the aisle, or that I should stand up and stop the ceremony.  And at first, sitting in the pews, it was ... well ... as hard as I expected it to be, as in excruciating. But just before they got to the vows, you shot me that look.”

“And what look would that be?” he asks, all innocence.

“You know very well what look, Nathan Scott! From years ago. You used to give me this look sometimes, during practice or during a game … just a really slow blink … then a look away and another quick look back.  It was … I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“It was just an _I’m thinking of you_ ,” he concedes, maybe a little embarrassed.

“Exactly. Yeah ... it was never a ‘let’s get it on’ look … you used to do it when were friends, you know before we even dated, and even when we were fighting, you’d do it, and even after we split for the last time, you’d do it. It always made me feel that we’d be okay eventually ... that we’d always have a connection, a friendship that …” she trails off, wondering if she’s sounding lame or absurdly romantic. Not _romantic_ romantic, but dreamy girly romantic.

“… that no one else really got,” he finishes for her.

She simply nods, takes another sip of that deliciously mellow Scotch.

“And I think maybe only Brooke ever came close to getting it. Everyone else just saw the low lows and the high highs with us and never got that there was more than that.” She laughs a little with a memory. “You know Lucas asked me once, why I stayed with you when you were such a jerk to me?”

Nathan chuckles at her.

“Well that’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question, isn’t it? What did you tell him?”

“I said ‘ _because sometimes it’s good and sometimes there’s no one else’_.”

Nathan winces and takes a gulp of his drink.

“That’s hardly a raving endorsement, you know.”

Peyton holds her hand up, shaking her head.

“Nate ... I didn’t say that to … you know I love you to bits … we’re way past all that. I just said it because really, it was _that_ look. Even when we were a mess, there was always that look … the ‘ _I’m thinking of you’_ look … the one that made me know, despite everything, you’d always have my back if I _really_ needed you. Even when you were being a jerk, I did know that was true …”

“It’s still true, Sawyer. Even more so now.”

“I know. The thing is, you shot me that look in the church, and right at that same moment Lucas looked at me too, just for a split second, but it was a really _shitty_ look and it was sneaky too ‘cos he kind of made it _look like_ he was just taking in the church …”

“But he wasn’t. He knew how hard today was going to be for you. He shouldn’t have given you _any_ kind of look. Bastard.”

Peyton shakes her head, not indicating that she disagrees because Nathan is completely right, but indicating that she’s not sorry Lucas did it.

“No. It was good,” she says firmly. “Because it sparked a ... a ... lightbulb moment.”

“Epiphany.”

“Jesus … who are you and what have you done with that numbskull Nathan Scott? Momentous? Epiphany?”

“Hey … you might’ve been in AP English while I was with the plebs in standard English, but I’m the one with a college degree, Sawyer … not you!”

She laughs and punches his arm gently. She’s proud that he has a college degree; she wishes she’d been there to see him graduate, this amazing guy that, alongside Brooke, has become her best friend in the world. Who would have thought?

“So … tell me about this _epiphany,_ kiddo.”           

“Kiddo? Well … this exact, fully formed sentence ran through my mind: _‘Who would have thought, back in Junior year, that Nathan Scott and Lucas Scott could be standing together like this, and that Nathan would be,_ by far _, the better man of the two.’”_

“Um … thanks … I think?”

“You know what I mean though, right?”

“Not really, no.”

“Nate, you’re not just my best friend; you’re the best guy I know.  Everything you’ve dealt with the past year and a half? You’ve just shown such amazing character and I’m so proud of you. And through everything, you’ve always kept an eye on everyone else; you look after us all. You’ve looked after me. And today? That look … just taking that second to check in with me. It meant a lot. And when _he_ threw me _his_ look? It just brought it all home. He has been an absolute _jerk_ to me for months. He has treated me far worse than you ever did and yet he had the nerve to throw me this look, right before he said _I do_. I don’t even know what that look _was_ but it felt like an accusation, like it’s my _fault_ that he was in that church getting married and I don’t even know why a word like ‘fault’ should come to mind, but it did and that’s how it felt to me, like that’s what he was saying to me; that he was _blaming_ me. And I thought that when he said it, _I do_ , I mean, that I’d feel like someone had put a knife in my heart ... or my guts. But there was _nothing_. Like ... absolutely zero nothing. I’m completely and utterly _done_ … and I really don’t care anymore whether he is happy or not happy. I don’t care if he’s making a mistake … because it’s his mistake to make.”

He’s been watching her while she explains. It should, he supposes, sound like a rant, but it’s not. She’s calm and articulate and stating her case and he can really see it; she’s over it. Over the drama, over the pain, over the constant game of one-upmanship that Lucas has been playing for months. Peyton’s been pretty damned restrained. She’s bitten back a couple of times, but overall, she’s turned the other cheek. Now, Nathan can see, she’s not going to have to be noble and ‘the better person’ because she simply doesn’t care. She’s going to be able to let it go.  But the mistake word catches his attention.

“Do you? Think he’s making a mistake, I mean?”

“It’s … not my place …”

“I know. It’s not mine either, despite being his brother and his Best Man. And for the record, I believe you … that it’s finally over for you. I don’t think anyone else will believe you for a while, but I do. But … I’m interested in your opinion because you know him better than anyone else Peyton, except maybe Haley. Even with being on the other side of the country for years, you still know him better than I do, and for sure better than Lindsey does. So, _do_ you? Think he’s making a mistake?”

She just nods her head once, simply. No fuss. No bother. But he gestures to her to say something, to explain why.

“I do.” She laughs at her own word choice, but it’s not a bitter laugh. “I think he’s making a huge mistake.  And maybe that’s why I hung on for so long, because I really don’t think she’s the right girl for him. But like I said, it’s his mistake to make.”

“I think you’re right. And I think this whole thing is going to get really, _really_ messy. And I hope you keep believing it’s over for you Peyton, because I also think he’ll come back to you. And I’d really hate for you to let him take you down again.”

She nods again and he can see her thinking about that. Being Lucas-free is only a few hours old for her, after all.

“I think I’ll be able to resist!” she eventually says with a wry tone. “So … on to more interesting couple-related topics, Mr The-Ink-Is-Now-Totally-Dry-On-My-Divorce-Papers Scott. It’s been what? Six months? You getting back in the game yet?”

Nathan rolls his eyes at her. He’s been getting this a lot, for quite a long time, actually. Some people started asking within a couple of weeks of the divorce being final. To her credit, Peyton has at least waited until the six-month mark.

“Come on … seriously!” she says, giving him a gentle shove. “You’re a catch, Scott. When am I gonna start meeting your dates and getting to grill them about their intentions towards my best friend?”

She’s a little surprised, and a lot amused, when he partially covers his face with a hand.

“Oh, my God, you’re being bashful! Nathan Scott, are you dating someone?”

“No! No. It’s just ... well ...” he looks around, obviously checking to see if anyone else is within hearing distance.  “You know I was in Charlotte for a few days a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah. Did you meet someone? Oooooh tell me. Do you have a crush on someone?” she asks, all wide eyes, hands clasped together, eyelashes batting, taking the mickey out of him. “Is she pretty? Do you think she likes you back?”

“Oh, my God. I’m a _man_. I don’t have _crushes_. And will you please stop channelling 12-year-old Brooke? It’s scary!”

“Well come on then; ‘fess up. What’s going on?”

“I went out with a few guys from the Bobcats – not for a big night – just a couple of beers,” he begins. “We met some girls in a bar and …”

He trails off and she really can’t figure out what that look on his face is. It’s not a textbook Nathan Scott look, that’s for sure.

“Oh, come on!” she protests. “Don’t leave me hanging; did you get lucky or not?”

“This conversation is seriously weird, Sawyer. You do know that, right?”

Peyton shrugs, grinning.

“I’m trying to live vicariously through you … so spill.”

“Well ... I’m not sure it’ll help.”

“You didn’t score?”

He frowns a little. He’s not sure ‘score’ is a word his friend Peyton uses. Must be the drinks. He shakes his head.

“I took this girl back to my hotel room but I ... I couldn’t …”

Peyton bursts out laughing, _really_ loud, so that many in the room turn to look at her. She looks around, covers her mouth, eventually gets herself under control. She shakes her head, looking at Nathan, eyes sparkling.

“I’m sorry. But the _great_ Nathan Scott, Super Stud, Sex God couldn’t get it … Well, you know, I mean, it happens to all guys at some time or another, right?”

“No! Oh, my God! That is _not_ what I meant, you idiot! I meant … you know …” he drops his voice to a much quieter level, “… emotionally. I just couldn’t do that one-night stand, fucking around thing.”

Peyton wipes tears of laughter from around her eyes, mouthing “I’m sorry …” but not able to actually find her voice.

“Good to know you’d be sympathetic in the _highly unlikely_ , as in ‘never going to happen until I’m like 90 or something’ event that I had such …”

“... _hard_ ships?” she chips in, with another raucous laugh. He folds his arms across his chest, nodding sagely.

“Right. So, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Now that you’re over all that sad, droopy crap, Sawyer the Bitch is back?”

“Yup. And how!” she laughs. “Sawyer the Bitch: one. Scott the Stud: zero. Besides … you love Sawyer the Bitch.”

“I do,” he agrees and they both widen their eyes in amusement at yet another use of those words. “Sawyer the Bitch is hot. And she’s way more fun than Sawyer the Sad Sack.”

They look at each and both burst into fits of laughter, clink their glasses and knock their drinks back. They’re attracting a few looks from other guests, which they notice, look at each other with the ‘ _should we tone it down’_ question in their eyes, then shrug and laugh. Nathan, ever the gentleman, gestures for more drinks from the bartender.

“You know what, though? I’m actually really pleased you don’t wanna be that guy again. Just proves my point from earlier; you’re the best guy I know. And the right girl will come along.”

He nods. He knows.

“There’s no rush, right?” he says, casually.

This time she nods at him.

“Right. There’s no rush. Geeze, we’re still only 23. Huh. Your old jersey number. 23.”

There’s a couple of minutes of companionable silence then Peyton places her slender hand on his forearm. When he looks at her, with a query in his eyes, she asks a question that she really doesn’t know the answer to.

“Is it hard? Seeing Haley today?”

“I thought it would be,” he answers thoughtfully. “With her being out on the road with her folks since we signed the papers, I did think seeing her today would be rough but … I guess it’s a bit like your epiphany … there was just nothing. Well, almost nothing. Just me realising that, after everything I tried to do to be the guy she wanted, it was never going to be enough so ... just … I dunno … a little residual sadness.”

“Residual? More big words?” she teases.

“Well, you know; six years with ‘Tutor-Wife’ rubbed off a bit.”

“Hmmm. I wonder what’s correct; _Ex-Tutor-Wife_ or _Tutor-Ex-Wife?_  I guess in theory she’s still a tutor, or she will be when she comes back and gets back to teaching, so I suppose it’s Tutor-Ex-Wife.”

“I guess. So … now that you’ve had your epiphany and clearly you won’t be living vicariously through my sexual exploits any time soon … when are _you_ going to get back in the game, Sawyer? How long’s it been?”

“Hey! It’s only been a few hours since my epiphany, thank you. And there’s no candidates here, that’s for sure. It’s all guys I’ve known forever or Lindsey’s up tight, buttoned down cousins and a few publishing stuffed shirts. Besides … oh my God that’s not what you meant, is it? You are _not_ seriously asking me how long it’s been since I …”

“Oh yeah … I am.” He grins at her with that totally charming, totally sexy look he has when he knows he’s pushing it, but also that he’s going to get away with it. Probably. “Remember, I _know_ how much you like it, girl. When did you last get some, Sawyer?”

“Nathan Scott! Besides,” she says teasingly and flirtatiously in the way they often are together, “what would you do with that knowledge if you had it? We’ve just established that _you’re_ not a candidate for a hot and heavy one nighter. _If_ I was going to do that I’d need someone that can …. um … deliver the goods, not get all ‘emotional’ on me.”

His mouth drops open a bit and she has the great satisfaction of knowing that she really got him on that one. He looks stunned.

“Sawyer the Bitch: Two. Scott the Stud: zero,” she says cheekily. He doesn’t reply. Maybe she went too far. She takes a drink while she ponders that.

“Hey,” she says, in a quick subject change, “you know what you and I never did?”

He smirks.

“Finish working our way through that ‘ _Joy of Sex’_ book I found at my grandparents’ house the summer we turned 16?”

It’s Peyton’s turn to look shocked and she splutters into her drink a bit. Nathan laughs at her, then holds up two fingers on one hand and one on the other.

“What was that score? Sawyer the Bitch: two. Scott the Stud: one.”

“Fair enough. And hey! You found it at your _grandparents_? It was bad enough thinking it was Dan and Deb’s book. But May and Royal? Ew. But no! Two words for you, Scott: _road_ and _trip_. We never road tripped.”

“Sure, we did. Rachel’s cabin. Honey Grove. I’m sure there were others.”

“Not in a group. Just us. I’ve road tripped with Brooke. And with Lucas. Even a couple of mini one-dayers with Tutor-Ex-Wife. But not with just you and me.”

“And your point is?”

“I want to show you something, Nathan.”

He’s tempted to make another cheeky, flirty comment at that but he can see that she’s suddenly quite serious and even a bit excited. She pulls her phone out and brings up an email advising her that Mia’s album has just hit the top 10 in the UK, turning her phone around and pointing to the information on the screen so he can see exactly what she’s referring to. It’s dated today.

“Peyton, that’s amazing; Mia’s going global!?”

She nods a satisfied nod.

“Sooooo,” she says, “I’m thinking I need to hit the road and find new artists.”

“Why? I know I don’t know the music business but doesn’t that email mean you’re in the money?”

“Yeah it does. But it also means my Mia will be targeted by the major labels even more now. She’s already had several approaches.”

“But she’ll stay loyal to you,” he says with a small frown. “She loves you.”

“Yeah. She’ll _want_ to stay. But I’m a one-man band using third party specialists for some extra expertise. She may _have_ to go with a bigger label to get the resources she needs to keep growing. And that makes Red Bedroom Records vulnerable. I need more than one artist that’s making it.”

“Okay. That makes sense. Sooooooo,” he draws it out, mimicking hers from earlier, “what are you thinking?”

“Road trip. And now’s the best time. Mia’s on tour for another nine or ten weeks. She’s got support there from the tour promoter, so I could hit the road for a month, maybe five weeks, go to bars and clubs, find some unsigned bands – I need variety not just solo acts. Maybe another singer-songwriter, too. Then I’d have four or five weeks for intense follow up before Mia’s back, then I start working with her on the next album.”

Nathan nods. She’s smart. She’s had that email less than a day and she’s thought it through, worked out the possibilities, got a strategy, all while preparing to sit through what was going to be one of the toughest things she’d ever done. No sitting on her laurels for Peyton Sawyer.

“Good plan. When are you thinking about going?”

“Monday,” she replies in a flash. “10am.”

“Very specific.”

“Yeah. No matter how I explain it, Brooke will think I’m running from …” she waves her hands around at the wedding reception “… this. And she’ll panic, and freak out, and try to stop me, or, God help me, try to come with me. So, I’ll head off after she goes to work on Monday.”

“And you’re really not running from all …” he waves his hands around mimicking her again _“…_ this?”

“I’m really not. Look. I admit I need to get away and clear my head, and get used to not … feeling all that stuff. Like … a circuit breaker? But it’s just time, you know, time to invest a whole pile of time and energy into my business and my career. Time to put me first.”

Nathan grins at her and nods. She’s amazing. Hard core strength.

“So? You in?” she says, eyebrows raised in question.

He suddenly realises what she’s suggesting.

“Me? Come with you?”

Peyton leans forward and puts her mouth really close to his ear, dropping her hand to his thigh.

“ _Come_ with me? _Baby_ , you should be so lucky. I just meant travel.”

He purses his lips and shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“Sawyer the Bitch: three. Scott the Stud: one,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“Alright. I’ll concede to you on this contest, Sawyer. I declare you the winner.”

“Yes!” she shouts, raising both of her arms above her head in victory. Nathan puts his head back and laughs from deep in his chest. They draw more attention from around the room and neither of them gives a hoot. He looks at her in a considered way and she grins.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“What, _babe_?” he emphasises, mirroring her use of their old terms of endearment. “ _Coming_ with you?” 

His tone is _very_ suggestive and, even though he’s really just recycling her line, she blushes anyway.

“Well” he continues, “I couldn’t let you _go there_ … um … _alone_ , now could I?”

Again, his tone is very suggestive and her blush deepens.

“Well, look at that,” he drawls, “Scott the Stud made Sawyer the Bitch blush!”

“Too little, too late Scott. Game’s over. I won.”

She swivels on her stool and hops down, landing lightly on her elegant strappy heels, and smoothing down her black silk trousers. He finds himself thinking that she is the only woman in the room not wearing a dress, and yet she looks more feminine than most of them and more elegant than _all_ of them. Then he wonders where that thought came from.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. “We’re having way too much fun here, Sawyer, and most of the rest of this crowd is seriously dull.”

“Ladies’ room. So, you’ll think about the trip?”

“Actually,” he begins thoughtfully, “there’s something I want to talk to you about, too. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

She tilts her head and looks at him curiously.

“I mean it, Peyton.  It’s … big … and if it got out I’d be in deep shit, but a road trip could be … useful.”

Peyton holds her finger under her chin in a classic ‘ _I’m thinking’_ pose, studying him.

“Let me see. You’ve been drafted …” she’s so caught up in her train of thought that she doesn’t notice he looks really alarmed. “… by … by the FBI and have to go undercover?”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“Look, I’ll get us another couple of drinks. Meet me out on the patio in a few minutes?”

“Ooh … very secret agent. Scott, Nathan Scott, Double O Twenty-Three.  Hmm ... doesn’t have the same ring to it, bud.”

She winks and goes to walk towards the bathrooms but he grabs her wrist and pulls her back, murmuring close to her ear.

“Don’t take too long in there, Sawyer, or I might think you’re ‘ _going there alone.’”_

He pulls back and winks cheekily at her. She looks at him in a very considered way, and leans in, brushing a kiss across his cheek and exhaling near his ear.

“ _Come with me_ on my road trip, Scott. It won’t be anywhere near as much fun alone as it will be if I have a _big_ strong ... _Stud_ ... to … um … _take care_ of me.”

She pulls back, winks again, bites her lip then turns and walks. And he is left watching her back, her hips, her legs and thinking that it is a long, long time since he has seen this version of her … and that he has really, _really_ missed it.

He grabs the drinks and heads towards the door that leads out to the patio but is stopped by a cross-armed, foot tapping Brooke Davis.

“Nathan!”

“Brooke. She’s fine.”

“Fine? Fine as in ‘ _acting her ass off and putting on a really brave face but deep down falling apart’_ or fine as in ‘ _drowning her sorrows and tomorrow my roomie’s gonna have the worst hangover ever and when she remembers today she’ll want to jump off a bridge’_?”

Neither of them have noticed the groom sitting at a nearby table, with his back to them, pretending to be listening to a dowager aunt of Lindsey’s, who is prattling on about goodness knows what. He’s seen the animated duo sitting at the bar for the last … well, for a long time. He’s heard their laughter; seen the intimacy of the way they’re interacting.  And he’s not liking it one little bit.

“Brooke, seriously. She’s actually fine; _really_ fine as in okay _and not jumping off anything_ fine.”

“Nathan, I want to believe that,” Brooke says, her voice full of concern. “But she’s been a mess this last few weeks, and today was …”

“… nowhere near as hard as she expected it to be,” he finishes her sentence for her. “Brooke, I know you’re worried about her but I’m telling you. She’s okay.”

“Well … the two of you _have_ been looking awfully chatty and buddy-buddy up there.”

“She’s my best friend Brooke. I know she’s yours too, but … look, let me ask you something … other than you, who knows her best?”

“Lu …” she stops herself before she can even finish the name. “No, actually not Lucas, not anymore. You, Nathan. Other than me, it’s you that knows her best.”

“Yeah. And _I’m_ telling you, she’s okay.”

“So, she’s not gonna run and never come back, or anything stupid like that?”

“She’s not gonna run and never come back.”

“Promise?” she asks with a tiny tremble to her bottom lip.

“Brooke, I promise.”

“Well.  Okay.  But you’ll let me know if she starts looking wobbly …”

“I will. Now why don’t you just enjoy the wedding? You know you love them.”

He goes to walk away, then turns back.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an amazing friend, you know? She might’ve pulled that little _getting back at you_ stunt back there, but she knows how lucky she is to have you.”

Brooke smiles one of her million-watt smiles.

“I thought that was _you_! That was her idea?” He nods. “Wow,” Brooke continues, “she really must be okay if she’s fucking with my head like that!”

He nods again, grinning at how well these two fit together as friends, despite their apparent differences.

“She’s lucky to have you too, Nathan,” Brooke comments, her hand resting on his forearm for a moment. “We both are.”

Nathan is waiting on the patio when Peyton comes out, and he hands her drink to her, for which she smiles her thanks.

“So,” she says, looking around as if checking the area for bugs, “why all the secrecy, Agent 99? Is this drink spiked? You’re gonna tell me, then kill me?”

“Look … you have to promise.”

“I do. Nate, you know you can trust me.”

“So … you weren’t too far off when you said ‘drafted.’”

“Well, with all this secrecy ... I’m thinking CIA, not FBI!”

“I think the FBI and CIA ‘recruit’ rather than ‘draft’, Sawyer.  And I don’t think I’m cut out for spending my life in a nondescript black suit.”

“So … what then?”

He takes her drink out of her hand and puts it on the bench seat. He has a feeling she may spill it. She looks at it, puzzled as to why he’s taken it from her.

“Peyton, you had the right word with drafted, just not the right acronym.”

She mutters under her breath. “More fancy pants words! Seriously. Who are you and what have you really done with my buddy? Acron …” she trails off and her breath hitches. “Nathan! NBA?”

She looks up and he sees that her eyes are wide. He holds his finger over his own mouth to indicate she should keep her voice down.

“Nathan? NBA!?” She is virtually whispering but her excitement is palpable. “You got re-drafted?”

He smiles, nods. “I’m not sure if re-drafted is even a word,” he says, “it’s probably more like re-called up, or just recalled, but it’s the same end result.”

She looks down, shaking her head. He reaches out and lifts her face up with his fingertips under her chin. She has tears overflowing and running down her cheeks.

“Sawyer. You’re crying. I thought you’d think this is good news.” He’s laughing at her. It’s amazing how she can go from cool, unflappable businesswoman to emotional wreck over his news.

Peyton flings herself at him, threading her arms under his and pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Nate. This is _amazing_. It’s everything you ever wanted. God ... it’s everything I ever wanted _for you_. I _knew_ you could do it. Where? What team?”

“Back to Charlotte. The Bobcats.”

“That’s why you were there a couple of weeks back?”

He nods. “Yeah.  Their last season …”

“Without you, not so good.”

“Not so good.” He agrees. Actually, their last season sucked bigtime.  “And it was more than just me,” he adds modestly. “But I let them know I was back and ready to work out my contract if they needed me. They didn’t believe I could play, let alone be good, but I went down to show them what I can do and they’re prepared to give me a shot. Not starting but a shot.”

He wipes tears off Peyton’s cheeks.

“Come on ... please! Stop it with the crying. I think we Scott boys have made you do enough of that!”

She laughs a genuine laugh at that, with no hesitation, and he thinks yes, maybe she really and truly is over his idiot of a brother.  He’d still like to see her say it when she’s stone cold sober though.

“I’m so _proud_ of you,” she says warmly. “You worked so hard for this, when no one believed that you could do it.”

“When no one except _you_ believed in me,” he corrects her softly.

She shrugs. It’s his glory, not hers.

“No, Peyt. When we were 14, 15, 16? Just kids, anyway. You were the first one to tell me you believed I could do it. Even my Dad never really said he believed I could. He pushed for it, and he might have believed it, but he never said it outright. _You_ did. And when I was clawing my way of that damn wheelchair, you were the only one that said I should go for it and risk it all, that you knew I could do it.  You’re the only one I want to know. I trust you with it, I do. But it can’t get out before the team releases it to the media. They’ve got this whole massive wheelchair whizz kid comeback PR plan organised.”

She nods her understanding. She knows how PR machines work. She’s been part of it; she _is_ part of it.

“So,” he says, “best I go on this road trip with you to make sure you keep your mouth shut, huh?”

She laughs.

“Really? You’ll … _go_ with me?”

He laughs at her strategic word choice and her raised eyebrow. Yup; she’s still teasing him anyway.

“I still need an edge so I reckon I can go looking for tough pick-up games in all these ghetto towns you’re going to, really get myself shoved around a bit. And I still have a bit of leverage at the old dealership, so I’ll sort out a car.”

“A car? We’re taking the Comet.”

“Oh no,” he declares. “No way.”

“But you love the Comet. Everyone loves the Comet.”

“I do. And I love seeing you drive the Comet all around Tree Hill; it’s like … part of this place. But Sawyer, that car is, like, 45 years old. How many times has it broken down in the last six months?”

“Um. Three?”

“Exactly! And that’s with just beetling about in Tree Hill.”

“The Comet does _not_ ‘beetle about’, thank you very much.”

“And I am _not_ a mechanic! These hands, as you well know, are _very_ good at a _great many_ _things_ , but keeping a car that is twice our age on the road is not one of them!”

“But Nate, it’s the _Comet_ ,” she pouts.

“And it will be waiting here for you when you get back from your very successful road tip, all safe and sound, not having broken down 53 times. Alright?”

“Meanie,” she pouts at him.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Okay. Shame you’re not mechanical though.”

“No. That would be the other Scott. You know, the one you said I’m a better man than?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “You’re gonna hold that over me, aren’t you?”

“Hell yeah. For a long time. It’s not every day a fancy record label bigshot pays a poor old ballplayer a compliment like that.”

“Oh!” she says, waving her hands excitedly. “That reminds me! There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, to do with the label.”

He waits for her to continue, not knowing what he could possibly help with.

“Nate, I know that when you invested in the label, with Brooke, you said you weren’t in a hurry to get the money back.”

“I’m not.”

“And I really appreciated that. I know it caused some extra friction with Haley during the divorce, when she found out about the investment.”

“Not your fault,” he assures her. “I told you that at the time. And her.”

“I know,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s not what this is about. I don’t know if you know, but I paid Brooke back about six months ago, with interest.”

“You did? That means you paid her back within what? Eight, nine months from start up? That’s impressive, Sawyer.”

“Well … she was really getting it in the neck from Bitch-toria, who was threatening to cut her off, and I had the projections to do it so I thought it’d help give her breathing space, you know? I hope you don’t mind that I paid B back first?”

“Of course not. I don’t need it.”

“But the thing is, I can pay you back now.”

“Seriously?” he asks, his jaw dropping a little. “You must be doing really great, even better than I thought.”

“Yeah. It’s good. Really good. But I need to keep it that way and getting rid of debt is part of that. And I thought I’d give you a choice on this. This was before I knew about your big new Bobcats thing of course; that probably changes your situation I guess.”

“Only for the better,” he shrugs. “But what are you talking about?”

“Well,” she says, taking envelopes out of her purse, “Envelope A. Check to cover what you put in, plus interest.”

“Sawyer,” he protests. “That was an _interest free_ loan.”

“I know. But I don’t feel right about that and I won’t argue about it either. Envelope B. Legal documents to give you a 10% share in the label. I’ve had it all properly valued and dollars-wise, the two options are equal.”

“Why the ownership option?”

“I thought you’d be starting to think about what to do. And I don’t mean to sound like I didn’t believe you’d get another shot at basketball. I just thought …”

He looks absolute stunned but in her rambling, she misreads the reason.

“Shit! Nate, I’m sorry,” she says, resting her hand on his forearm. “You think I was Plan B-ing you! I really wasn’t…”

He places a finger over her mouth to stop her talking. “Seriously? That is _not_ what I was thinking. I’m just … amazed at how much you keep giving to me. Well, actually, to all of us. You’re always thinking about the way forward. I’m ...”

But as almost always, she’s not good with praise and cuts him off. “So, what’s it gonna be, Scott? The cash or the being tied to Red Bedroom?”

“You’re asking me to be tied up in your bedroom, Sawyer? Kinky.”

She rolls her eyes.

“C’mon,” he laughs, “that was an easy one. I’m in. Where do I sign?”

“Not now. Get your lawyer to look over it first.”

“No need. I trust you.”

“No. I insist. It has to be vetted properly, Nate. I won’t risk your friendship. Just in case there’s something I’ve missed, check it over first.”

He nods and agrees, then tucks the envelope into his inside jacket pocket and throws his arm around her shoulder. “Alright. So how do we celebrate being official business partners then?”

“Another Scotch?”

“Oh, I think we’ve both had enough, Sawyer.”

“You can dance with me then,” she says enthusiastically, reaching for his hand to drag him inside.

“Oh no. I do not dance. You know that.”

“C’mon. It’s getting late. It’s all slow dancing now. You just need to shuffle your feet a bit.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not even for me? Your bestie? Your business partner?”

“Not even for you. There are some levels of humiliation below which I will not sink. I do my dancing on the basketball court.”

“Well. You’re no fun! I’ll have to go find Skills. That boy can move and _apparently_ , he has my back!”

“Yeah. Well. I think maybe he’d have your front too, if you’d let him.”

They head in, with Peyton denying his theories about Skills having a man-sized crush on her, and him insisting that he’s right, and that while _he_ is too manly to have a crush, as they’ve already discussed, Skills is perfectly suited to crushing.

Having watched them surreptitiously for the last long while, and still being both surprised and perturbed by the relaxed and easy camaraderie between his brother and the woman he still thinks of as his, despite this being his own wedding reception, Lucas approaches them right away.

“Peyton, I’ve been looking for you,” he says earnestly, his eyes forming that squint she used to find so enticing. Right now, it looks faintly ridiculous.

“Well, here I am,” she answers brightly.

“Come and dance with me.”

“Aah … no thanks, Lucas.”

“C’mon. Why not?” he pleads jovially.

“Because I don’t want to,” she replies calmly, pleasantly but firmly.

“You love to dance.” Come to think of it, she muses, he really can be quite whiney.

“I also love my very expensive strappy sandals and my kickass pedicure and I don’t want either of them wrecked by your two left feet.”

“You just won’t be near me,” he says somewhere between a plea and an accusation. “You’ve been avoiding me all day and all night.”

“I have not!” And she realises that, actually, she’s speaking the truth. She hasn’t gone out of her way to seek him out, but she hasn’t actively avoided him either.

“This is the first time we’ve talked all day, Peyt.”

“Actually _Lucas_ , this is the first time we’ve spoken in weeks because _you’ve_ avoided me. So, I don’t see what the big deal about today is.”

“It’s a wedding! I’m the groom! I’m supposed to dance with all the female guests. And you’re the only one I haven’t danced with. It’ll look … _odd_ if I don’t dance with you.”

“Lucas. I’m fully aware that this is a wedding and that you are the groom. You should be all blissed-out dancing with your wife, not worrying about what people will think if you don’t dance with every girl in the room.”

“You’re avoiding me.” And not just whiney, but also kind of repetitive.

“No. I’ve just been enjoying the day and the evening with some of my other friends.” She catches, from the corner of her eye, Lindsey swooping in from the left, behind Luke.

“You’ve been enjoying yourself on the top shelf whisky at my expense is what you’ve been doing,” the bride announces without preamble. The groom does, at least, have the decency to look mortified at that.

“Lindsey? What the …?” he begins, but Peyton isn’t surprised. Despite Lucas’ apparent refusal to see it, she is well used to this sort of comment from Lindsey Strauss.  Or maybe Lindsey Strauss- _Scott_? Hmmm. And, miraculously, that name doesn’t grate like the sound of breaking glass. Or hearts.

“Hello to you too, Lindsey,” she says, all Southern belle saccharine sweet. “You look beautiful. I haven’t spoken to you yet today. But you look perfect. Everything looks perfect. Please don’t blame the barman for the drinks.  I was on the standard stuff, as per your instructions, until the Best Man joined me. As part of the bridal party, he slipped me a couple of rounds of the good stuff. If it’s an issue, I’m happy to pay for it.”

“Like hell, you will,” interjects Nathan. “Lindsey, if I wasn’t playing by your rules I’ll pay for the drinks. In fact, you know what, I think I’ll insist on it. And I’ll pay for mine too. I’d hate to be a burden on your ... resources.”

“Lindsey? What’s going on?” Lucas, as bright as he is supposed to be, looks totally bamboozled. Or is he just … drunk?

“It’s okay, honey,” Lindsey says placatingly. Condescendingly. “I told the bar staff only the bridal party was to have the top shelf stuff.”

Nathan laughed. “And yet you were handing it out to your own friends quite freely. Was it just Peyton that was on the rabble list?” Lindsey looks a bit surprised to be called on it and even more so when Lucas asks her to explain.

“Well ... do you blame me?” she fires back to her new husband. “There was a pretty good chance she’d …”

“What, Lindsey? That she’d what?” Lucas asks defensively.

“You know what?” Peyton interrupts. “It’s okay. I get it. Lindsey was expecting me to be what? Maudlin? A bit messy? A bit of a ‘problem’? Go a bit ‘postal’? Or maybe that should be a bit ‘library’?”

Lindsey eyes her disdainfully. “Well, history would indicate …”

Nathan steps forward but Peyton puts her arm out to stop him. She’s had enough of this and she’s ending it now. She has no reason to take it anymore; she owes these people, either of them, nothing. She’s careful to keep her voice calm and low and her face relaxed, but she’s sure there will be people in the room that recognise this for what it is; the showdown. Maybe it’s not happening in the church the way some expected, even hoped, but it’s the end of the line. Peyton Sawyer is not going to be pushed around by this woman any longer.

“You know what, Lindsey? I know we’ve had our differences. I know that when I first came back I said, and did, some things that were … well, let’s say less than gracious.  But I backed off and I’ve said nothing untoward to you for _months_. I’ve apologised to you _several times_ and you’ve chosen not to accept my apologies, so…”

Lucas is looking backwards and forwards between his girlfriend, shit, his _wife_. Shit, why did he think _shit_? Between his wife and his girlfriend, shit his _ex-girlfriend_ , shit his … _nothing now ._.. and why is he thinking _shit_ about that? And he’s getting more and more confused and thinking he really shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

“What are you talking about?” he bursts out with. Peyton looks to Lindsey to answer, but she’s quiet. Peyton just shakes her head. It’s really not her place.

“I’m not doing this,” she says, and goes to walk away, but Lucas grabs her wrist and stops her progress away from him.

“No! I want to know what’s going on,” he insists, releasing her arm.

“This is a conversation for you and your wife, Lucas. I should go.”

And she tries. Again. But, again, Lucas grabs her wrist and stops her from leaving. He turns to his wife. “Lindsey?”

She shrugs. “So, what? She apologised a few times. And so she should have.”

“A few times? How many?”

“I don’t know, honey. I didn’t keep count.”

Nathan steps in. “Just as well I did. Four that I know of. At last count. Right, Sawyer?”

He’s rewarded for his gallantry with a classic Peyton Sawyer frown.

“Lindsey!” Lucas exclaims.

“It wasn’t all me!” she protests. “Haley was …”

“Haley? What the hell …?” Lucas asks intensely.

“Man, I tried to tell you and you wouldn’t have it,” Nathan says. “Do you not remember that yelling match at my house? My old house? They made Sawyer’s life really difficult but you were oblivious to it all ... and hell bent on being right too, so you just wouldn’t listen.”

Lucas looks between them all and shakes his head. How did this all get to be such a mess?

“Look,” Peyton begins, “benefit of the doubt, Lindsey. Maybe you didn’t think I meant it when I apologised before. So, let’s make it really clear now and end this. I was out of line. I was unsettled when I came back. I was dealing with a lot of stuff, and I was confused. I’m genuinely sorry for my part. I hope you can accept that I’m being sincere.”

Lindsey looks sceptical. “Well, I’m not sure I believe you at all …”

Peyton sees red at that and cuts her off sharply. “Well, I mean it. But you know what? You were out of line too. And you haven’t made any effort at all to make things right.”

“Well, neither has Haley ...”

Peyton puts her hand up in Lindsey’s face. “What are you? Five? Do _not_ bring Haley into this. I have made my peace with Haley. She accepted my apology with grace and dignity … and come to think of it,” she muses as an aside that no one else quite understands, “she accepted my coffee too …”

“She won’t let you back in,” Lindsey says with great certainty.

“Haley and I have had _very_ strong differences of opinion in the past and gotten over it,” Peyton replies assuredly. “Hell, you edited _Ravens_ ; you know Haley and I have been at loggerheads over both Brooke and Nathan, people that mean far more to me than you ever will. If Haley and I can get past _that_ , then you can be assured, that we’ll be just fine.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, then Peyton continues. “Look, Lindsey. Accept my apology or don’t. That’s up to you. Quite frankly I don’t care. But this is the last time I’ll offer it. You know, you asked me once if the lack of a maternal influence in my life is why I had so little ... what was it you said? So little decorum?”

“Lindsey? Seriously? You did _not_ say that!” Lucas is ashen. But Peyton just talks over the top of him.

“And you know what, Lindsey? Maybe there was a lack of maternal influence, but I was still brought up to know it’s good manners to accept an apology in the spirit it was offered. In fact, my Mom taught me that, so it means I learnt it before I was _nine_. So, I hope that, given you are an _adult,_ you’ll also get to that point in time. And maybe, just maybe, you could look at your Ivy League social morays and find it in your heart to reciprocate the apology at some stage. Until then, thank you for the kind invitation to your _perfect_ wedding. Really. Everything is _just_ as I expected it to be.”

And everyone within spitting distance knows that that was not a compliment in any way, shape or form. She goes to walk off but Lucas grabs her wrist again.

“Peyton. Please!  Will you …”

“Lucas,” she says between gritted teeth, expertly twisting her wrist out of his grasp. “I’ve already said I don’t want to dance with you.”

He’s about to speak again and she knows he wasn’t going to ask her to dance. She knows it was going to be something deep and meaningful or sorrowful and regretful but she’s just had it with this guy and his words. They mean nothing. And she just doesn’t care.

“Well you can’t anyway, Sawyer,” Nathan interjects smoothly, “you promised the next three to me, maybe even four.” He takes her hand and leads her out onto the dance floor, pulling her into his arms.

“What happened to not dancing, or actually ‘ _absolutely not’_ dancing?” she asks lightly.

“You went and got all Feisty Peyton on me,” he smirks. “Never could resist Feisty Peyton.”

“Well, I was _going_ to leave,” she complains.

“Nope. You’re going to dance with me for a bit, then you’re going to dance with Skills, who is looking at you with a crazy soppy look on his face ‘cos he loves Feisty Peyton too, and you’re going to prove to those two newlywed _idiots_ that you’re better and stronger than them.”

“And _right_. Don’t forget that I’m also _right_.”

“Oh, you are soooo right. But there is one thing I need to know.”  
“What’s that?”  
“What was that about my ex-wife and coffee?”

Peyton grins and recounts to him the day she ran into Haley at a cafe, as the brunette was leaving town a few months earlier, right after the finalising of the Naley divorce.

 

_Peyton?”_

_“Haley. Hi. I heard you were leaving. I guess you’re on your way out of town, huh?”_

_“Um. Yeah. And running super late to meet up with my folks.”_

_“And you want a coffee for the road, and it’s not as good as Karen’s but it’s the best we have now, right? So, take it. I’m not in a rush. I’ll join the queue again and get another one.”_

_“I … Peyton ...”  
“Haley. Just take the coffee.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“I know, Haley.”_

_“I mean … for … everything.”_

_“Haley. I_ know _.”_

_“I don’t even know where to ...”_

_“You know what?  Just don’t. Take my coffee. Go join your folks. One day you’ll come back.  We’ll both be in a better headspace then.”_

_“You were the first …”_

_“I was what?”_

_“You were the first of that group to be nice to me, Peyton, and look how I repaid you.”_

_“We all have our moments, right?”_

_“He’ll come back.”_

_“Who?”_

_“Lucas.”_

_“No. Not this time, he won’t.”_

_“I know him, Peyton.”  
“So do I, Haley. And this time he’s more determined than ever before to be right.”_

 

“Wow,” says Nathan, close to her ear. “When was that? Six months ago?”  
“Yeah.”

“You called it back then? Why he was being such an idiot?”

“I didn’t really know I had,” she replies blithely, “but I guess so.”

“You nailed it. He’s been determined to be right, this whole time. And he’s wound up being more wrong than ever before.”

“Like we said, Nate, it’s his mistake to make. Me? I’m moving on.”

“Yes, you are. You’re road tripping with the _better_ Scott.”

She laughs and puts her head on his shoulder. “I am road tripping, indeed. And I suspect you’re gonna remind me that you’re the better Scott every damn day.”

“Maybe every second day,” he laughs.

An hour or so later, after slow dancing with Skills, and Mouth, and Chase, and Owen, and Andy, and someone else whose name she never does learn, she is, finally, leaving the reception. Nathan appears at her side, telling her she’s not walking to the cab rank alone in the dark. She almost argues with him, but decides he’s probably right. Why tempt fate when she’s finally back on an even keel after months of feeling like a boat lost at sea?

He waits with her until a cab arrives, and sees her into it.

“Alright, Sawyer, so I’ll pick you up at 10 on Monday?”

“In a convertible.”  
“Demanding, much?”  
“Nate, it’s June. It’s already hot and it’s gonna get hotter. We’re road tripping. It has to be a convertible.”

“Fair enough.”

“Oh! And I know you probably will anyway, but bring your running gear.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “I need to stay in shape. You know why.”  
“We can run every morning,” she suggests. “Early. Before it gets hot.”

“ _You_? Run? With _me_? Sawyer, I don’t just jog along.”

“I know,” she retorts, frowning a little.

“You don’t run.”  
“Au contraire. Haven’t you heard? I’m notorious for running!”

“You don’t _run_ run,” he says, but she can tell he’s amused at her self-deprecating retort.

“I may surprise you yet, Scott. And I’ll draft up road trip rules for discussion on the first leg.”

“What the ...? Road trip _rules_? You’re sounding scarily like Brooke again.”

“Yes rules. But don’t panic. Brooke rules are designed to make sure Brooke gets what Brooke wants. Sawyer rules are designed to prevent world war three sized fights. And trust me, with your taste in music and my taste in music in the same car, we need to avoid the potential for world war three sized fights.”

“That reminds me,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat, “I need to load some more music into my phone.”

“Damn. Should’ve stayed quiet.”

“Ha ha Sawyer. Okay. Go. Get some sleep. See you Monday.”

While the cab is heading towards the home she shares with Brooke, she scrolls through her email, searching for one she received earlier in the week. She finds and opens it, ponders it for several minutes. It was out of the blue, from someone she’d had no contact with a long time. It seemed cheery enough at face value, but she just felt like there was more to it, that it was, maybe, a plea for help.  And she could do a lot remotely, from the road, but she really didn’t want to leave the studio and office unattended for four or five weeks.  It might make her a bit unpopular, but it’s her business and her livelihood after all. She must do the right thing by it, so she types her reply and hits send before she could change her mind.

_Hi yourself,_

_As chance would have it, yes, I could do with a hand. I’m heading out on a scouting trip on Monday for four or five weeks. You can babysit the office and studio if you can be in town tomorrow for a handover/run through._

_P_

By the time she’d paid the cabbie, the reply was in.

_Hey,_

_Thank you, Peyton. You have no idea, seriously. I’ll be there by midday. Two questions. Can I sleep on the studio couch? (Is there a studio couch? And that’s still part of the first question, in case you’re counting.) Can you pay me in studio time rather than cash?_

 

_Hi again,_

_Yes, you can crash on the couch. Do not (and I repeat, do not) make me live to regret this. And if there any signs whatsoever of misdeeds on that couch you’ll be buying me a new one. We’ll talk about payment tomorrow._

When Lindsey walks back into their bedroom from the bathroom, Lucas is already in bed, lying on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

“It was a good idea to wait until tomorrow to leave for our honeymoon,” she says. “I’m beat.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he replies, looking over to her with a small smile before turn his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

“Perfect day, huh?”

He looks at her again. She really is beautiful, he thinks. “Just about,” he smiles.

“Lucas …” she trails off uncertainly.

“Lindsey, what?”

“That disagreement … with Peyton …”

“Look, Lindsey, I don’t know what’s been going on. I … I haven’t asked and probably I should have. It’s too late to go back into it all now. But whatever it was, is has to stop. This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. I’m the coach of the high school basketball team and basketball’s the biggest game in town. Peyton is my friend and she owns the fastest growing business in town.  I can’t have my wife and my friend having a feud that runs for years. She apologised. It sounds like she’s done it before. You need to sort it out and put it to bed and get on with her.”

Lindsey stands, hands on hips, open mouthed in shock at his outpouring. For months, he’s been either close-lipped or mono syllabic about anything to do with Peyton.  And now he pulls this out?

“You’re taking her side?”

“No. I’m saying I don’t know what’s been going on; I’ve turned a blind eye to it. Maybe I shouldn’t have but I just … anyway. It’s done. We all need to start fresh.”

“You _are_ taking her side!”

“I’m _not!_ I chose _you_ , Lindsey! I married _you_! But we all have to get on. You get on fine with Brooke. Why can’t you get on fine with Peyton, too?”

“It’s different,” she insists.

“Why?”  
“Well, why don’t _you_ tell _me_ why it’s different, Luke?”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You know, for the whole of our engagement, you’ve been perfectly comfortable seeing Brooke, spending time with Brooke, and I’ve been perfectly comfortable with it. Because it is very clear to everyone that you and Brooke are friends, good friends, and there’s no residual … stuff.”

“And?”  
“For the whole of our engagement, you have basically avoided Peyton like the plague! You’ve only ever seen her at group things.”

“That’s not true!”

“Well if you’ve seen her at other times you haven’t mentioned it to me, and maybe that’s a problem too.”

“Seriously? It’s our wedding night and you’re raising all this now?”

“And if I’d raised it before the wedding?” she fires back.  
“Jesus! What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Would there have _been_ a wedding?”

“Lindsey! Maybe _this_ is why I haven’t mentioned it the odd time I’ve seen her at the studio or whatever. You get all paranoid and weird.”

“Tell me why _I_ shouldn’t be uncomfortable about her, Lucas, when _you_ clearly still are.”

“ _I’m not!_ I’m not. Lindsey. C’mon. I chose _you_. I said _I do_ to you. I just … we have to make it work. You ... you’re better than this. I know you are. She’s gonna be around and you need to get on with her.”

“So do you, Luke.”

“Lindsey. Just … it’ll all be fine. Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got an early start tomorrow to get that flight.”

The last thing he hears from Lindsey before she drifts off to sleep is a mumbled, slightly snarky question along the lines of what woman wears trousers to a wedding?  And, of course, that brings a picture of the trouser-wearing, convention-averse woman to his mind, in strappy silver high heels, slim fitting black silk trousers, an elegant, flowing silvery top and long, dangly black and silver earrings that brushed her neck when she moved. He hadn’t seen her hair elegantly swept up like that since … since Nathan and Haley renewed their wedding vows. Other than the disagreement on the side of the dance floor, he hadn’t spoken to her all day (he’s not prepared to concede that she’s right and he hadn’t really spoken to her for weeks) and yet now, with his brand-new wife asleep next to him, the images are flying into his mind and piling up.

Her face as she sat in the pew in the church and a look of something he didn’t recognise at all as being one of _her_ looks, but it crossed over her face just before the minister coughed quietly to re-capture Lucas’ attention and he said his _I do_. Her sitting at the bar at the reception, with his brother’s arm around her shoulder, then his hand at her hip. The two of them, their heads tipped back in laughter, with Peyton’s arms raised above her head in some sort of gesture of victory.  Nathan and Peyton wrapped in a hug outside on the patio, his brother wiping her cheek, removing what? A tear? An eyelash? Her eyes flashing with determination and a little anger as she held her ground against both Lindsey and him during that conversation on the side of the dance floor. Her gentle hand that held Nathan back as his brother moved to defend her. Her smile, her laugh, her green, green eyes as she danced with Skills, Nathan, Andy, Mouth, Lindsey’s cousin … everyone. Or anyone that wasn’t him. Anyone that wasn’t Lucas Scott.

The next thought that runs through his head is that if he was sharing this wedding night with Peyton, she wouldn’t be asleep next to him while he thought of someone else. Even with a full-on day and an early flight the next day, they’d be sitting up all night talking, and giggling, and kissing. There’s no way Peyton Sawyer would fall asleep next to her groom on her wedding night until she’d made him breathless, and been made breathless herself, with touches and caresses, gazes and thrusts, moans and gasps. He looks to his left at Lindsey’s sleeping face and he recalls their _I dos_. She thought it was the perfect day. Well … it was a perfectly planned and perfectly orchestrated wedding. Except for one thing. And his world tips on its axis. _He said I do to the wrong girl._ He _doesn’t_. God, he _doesn’t_. _He_ objects. But it’s too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peyton and Nathan hit the road and we start to fill in some history. Hope the past (italics) and present are clearly enough defined.

The next day, despite her _very_ late arrival home the night before, she’s at the studio bright and early, doing a quick tidy up, setting up a new user and passwords and appropriate access rights on the computer system, updating the booking schedule for the recording studio, digging around in her desk drawer to find her spare set of keys to the office door, studio door and storage cupboard.

Shortly before midday, the large door between Tric and the office opens and she looks up to see her hesitant, tentatively smiling studio sitter.

“Hey,” she said, “you’re right on time. Come on in.”

He crosses the room, dropping a large canvas bag and his guitar on the couch as he passes it, then drops into the seat opposite her desk, placing a cardboard tray with two coffees in it on the desk between them.

“Goldilocks.”

“Keller.”

“Peyton?” he says next, in an entirely genuine voice. _“Thank you.”_

“You’re welcome, Chris. I … detected an undertone in that email. Was I wrong?”

“No.”

“What’s going on?”

“You know, I’d really rather not …”

“Alright,” she nods. “Just promise me I’m not going to come back in a few weeks to find my business burnt out ‘cos some drug baron or pissed off husband has tracked you down to Red Bedroom Records.”

“Scout’s Honour,” he says, making some weird, nothing like a Boy Scout salute with his hands. “It’s just … it’s been a rough year.  Dropped by my girl. Dropped by my label. Kicked out of where I was living.”

“On the upside ...” she begins lightly, making his jaw drop.

“I’m sorry? Upside to my tale of woe? You are _cold_ , Goldilocks, _just_ like in the fairy tale.”

“Well, you said you wanted to be paid in studio time so I’m guessing your year from hell has generated a pile of new material? That’s the upside for _you_. Plus … you’ve stopped referring to yourself in the third person and _that_ ,” she says with wide eyes and a cheery smile, “is the upside for _everyone else_.”

A semblance of the trademark Chris Keller smirk crosses his face but vanishes pretty quickly. She reaches out to take one of the coffees, gesturing a thank you and sipping gratefully. She’s not sure how he knew how she has her coffee, but it’s perfect.

“Okay,” she says, “here’s the deal. You can, as we’ve agreed, crash on the couch. During the day, you need to be at the desk, monitoring phone and email, taking messages, taking studio bookings. I’ve just started hiring out the studio as another income stream; if the studio’s booked you need to be assisting if they need you ... but there’s only a few bookings, and most of them are bringing their own engineer in. I’m still looking for one that I like enough to take on as our regular. I’ll be in touch by email often and I’ll phone in at least once a day to discuss what’s going on, what you can handle for me and what I’ll handle myself. After hours, the studio’s yours. Providing you really are clear from your label, if I like what you’ve got when I get back, we’ll talk about putting it out on Red Bedroom Records. But only if I like it.  And, when I get back, we’ll also discuss whether you’ve earnt more than studio time and a roof over your head as payment.”

Chris puts his coffee down and extends his hand, which she takes.

“Deal,” he agrees. “And thank you, again.”

“Chris, while you’re here you are NOT Chris Keller, alright? You are Chris, Red Bedroom Records intern. You are looking after my baby for the next month or so and if you fuck this up, so help me …”

He’s shaking his head firmly.

“I won’t. I’m actually pretty good at this admin stuff. I did part time office stuff right through college.”

“You went to college?” she asks in shock. “How did I not know that? In fact, how did you even get in?”

“My family isn’t proud,” he shrugs.  “I’m the black sheep; the only one that didn’t go Ivy League.”

“What was your major?”  
“Business, believe it or not.”

“Well. You are full of surprises! I’m feeling a little better about this now. C’mon, Keller, let’s show you the ropes.”  


**Monday morning**

He pulls up in a car that looks so good she can’t wait to drive it, even if it isn’t the Comet. When she says as much after they’ve been on the road towards Raleigh for a few minutes, he tells her that’s tantamount to an admission that she was wrong about taking the Comet but he’s enjoying being behind the wheel so much that she’ll be lucky to get her hands on it within the next week. She eyeballs him and reaches into her bag, pulling out a piece of paper with her loopy scrawl on it.

“Don’t tell me,” he says, with a grin, as she makes a point of dramatically unfolding the paper, smoothing it out, then snapping it a few times for good measure. “Sawyer’s Road Trip Rules?”

“Correct,” she says.

“Alright, then. Hit me.”  
“I bet you say that to all the girls, Scott.”

“Just the gorgeous ones,” he says without missing a beat. “C’mon. Whatcha got?”

“So … Road Trip Rule Number 1. We take turns driving.”

“Is that really on that paper or are you just trying to get your hands on the wheel of this awesome car?”  
She turns the page towards him and runs her finger under the line. It does indeed say exactly what she just said.

“Safety, Scott,” she says. “Can’t have one of us fatiguing behind the wheel, now, can we?”  
“Fine. What’s next, Officer Sawyer?”

“Road Trip Rule Number 2. Driver’s pick for music _and_ where and when we stop for meals.”

He nods; no issues there.

“Road Trip Rule Number 3. _Passenger’s_ pick for topics of conversation and in-car snacks.”

He laughs. “You really thought about this, didn’t you?”  
“I did … but a long time ago. These are standard Sawyer Road Trip Rules that have been honed over many road trips on both the East and West Coasts.”

“Alright. Good to know I’m in the hands of a master. Or maybe that’s mistress?” he adds with a cheeky smirk.

“Yeah, well, on that note, and uncannily excellent timing by the way: Road Trip Rule Number 4. Don’t screw the crew.” He raises an eyebrow at her and goes to speak but she cuts him off. “And before you say anything about you _knowing I want you_ , might I remind you these rules were not devised specifically for this trip, you perv!” she laughs.

“Ah,” he says, “you know me too well, Sawyer. That it?”  
“One more. Road Trip Rule Number 5, which is for extended trips only. General shape of days to be outlined upfront, otherwise the whole trip just kind of dribbles on and gets shapeless and boring.”

“And let me guess? You have a plan?”  
“Of course!”  
“Of course. Scarily like Davis, though,” he mutters waiting for her to thump him. She doesn’t disappoint and he rubs his arm while pouting his bottom lip in a fit of amateur dramatics.

“Go on, then,” he laughs.

“Well … you’ll get up and run early, right?”

He nods.

“Okay. Well, I’ll come with you …”

“We had this conversation. I don’t just doddle along, girl.”  
“Nathan, shut up! Seriously? I ran a lot for a while in LA and a bit when I first came back and I’ve really been getting back into it the last few weeks. I really don’t think I’ll hold you back, but if I do cramp your style on the first one, I’ll bow out after that, okay?”

He shrugs. She rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head. He clearly doesn’t expect much from her but he’ll keep.

“Anyway,” she continues. “Run early. Hit the road by 9.30 or 10. I’ve got a general list of towns to get to, where I know there are good live music pubs and clubs; basically, a big loop through NC, SC and Georgia. Most days we won’t be driving more than a couple hours, maybe three or four but no more. So, we’ll usually be into a motel by lunchtime or early afternoon.  You can hit the court or the gym or whatever, and I’ll be working and be in touch with the studio.”  
“The studio?” he asks, a bit baffled. “There’s no one there.”

“Um. Yeah. Yeah, there is,” she says in what sounds like a reluctant admission. “I have a babysitter looking after it.”

“Cool. Who?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“No. Except that you’re being evasive, so now I’m wondering why.”  
“That’s because you won’t like it.”

“It’s your label. None of my business really.”

“That’s true. So, the fact that my studio and label is being looked after by Chris Keller is just dandy with you then?”

His jaw tightens and the skin over his knuckles whitens as his hands clench on the wheel.

“It’s fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you are _such_ a bad liar, Nate. Of course, it’s not fine with you, but I really needed someone there and I’d just heard from him and he seemed kind of …”  
“An ass? A trouble maker? A cocky jerk?”

“He can be all of those things and more, I agree. But … actually, he seems very subdued right now and he’s not a bad sound engineer, and he even has a business degree, which I didn’t know before, and … well … he’s doing it without pay if he can use the studio after hours so ...”  
“Sawyer. It’s … it’s okay, really. Like I said, it’s none of my business.”

“Well … once you’ve signed those papers it will be; a little bit, anyway.”

“They’re signed,” he tells her nonchalantly.  
“Nate! I told you to talk to your lawyer first.”

“I did. Yesterday.”

“On a Sunday?”  
“Yeah. He’s cool. He owed me one. He said they’re good as gold and he reckons, if anything, you’ve been too generous. I’ve got a notorised copy in my bag for you.”

“Right. Well … I …”  
“So I’m guessing that evenings you’ll be heading out to check out bands and stuff?”  
“Yup. Most nights.”

“I’ll come with you,” he says. It’s not an offer, or a suggestion. It’s a statement.  
“You don’t need to do that.”  
“I know,” he shrugs, “but I’m not letting you wander around strange towns on your own at night.”

“Whatever,” she says. “So … we’re good? We understand the rules?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

“Jerk.”

“So … I’m driving. Must be my music choice,” he retorts.

“Hmmm,” she says slyly. “That is true. And _I_ get to choose the topic of conversation and I choose … the day you got out of the wheelchair and onto crutches.”  
“What? Why?” he asks, clearly surprised. This was months and months ago. Water under the bridge.  
“Because it seems like that was when everything changed. And I don’t just mean getting out of the chair. It’s like … _everything_ changed.”  
“You were there. You know.”  
“No. I was there, sure. But you never really talked about how you felt about it all. You just … you know … pushed yourself to the absolute limits physically and internalised everything else. And …”

“It’s in the past,” he insists.

“It’s part of who you are _now_. And I’m the passenger. And you agreed to Road Trip Rules. So, talk to me, Scott. What happened after I dropped you off and you went into the house?”

He exhales heavily. “I’m so gonna use that rule against you too, you know,” he complains.

“Do your worst,” she says. “I have no secrets. But right now, it’s my turn to grill you.”

“Well …” he begins.

****

**_Nine Months Ago_ **

_They’re over two months into the rehab routine, going two, sometimes three times a week if Jono has a third spot free. And it’s a great day today; Jono just gave Nate the green light to ditch the wheelchair and switch to crutches._

_They’re on the road, coming into Tree Hill after a relatively quiet trip as they both let the huge step soak in, and Peyton is beaming, throwing big grins his way._

_“I’m so proud of you, Nathan. This is a big day. Haley’s gonna be thrilled.”_

_“Yeah. I hope so,” he replies with something less than certainty and excitement._

_“She will! Why wouldn’t she be?”_

_“I guess you’re right.”_

_“I’m always right!”_

_“Of course, you are! Alright, Miss Tippy Tappy Typing Madly on Your Laptop every session. You promised me you’d tell me about what you’ve been working on when I got out of that chair and on to crutches.”_

_“Dammit. I kinda hoped you’d forgotten about that.”_

_“Nope. So, spill.”_

_“It’s … a business plan,” she admits a little shyly._

_“For?”  
“Um ... my own label? With a bit of a spin.”_

_“Ha! Funny!”_

_“You think me starting my own label is a joke?” She sounds, suddenly, deflated; full of doubt and fear and he mentally kicks himself._

_“No! I mean ‘spin’ as in records – that’s funny.”_

_“Oh. Right. Unintended.” Her tone is still dull._

_“Peyt, I don’t think you starting a label is a joke. It sounds ... perfect, actually. So, tell me more about your business plan.”_

_“Actually, would you take a look at it for me?”_

_“Sure, if you want, but I’m not in business.”_

_“No. But you’ve got a college degree with a business major. I just ... look, I like my ideas. I think they’re sound. I’m thinking a small label that has a real strength in sourcing new music for movie and television soundtracks. I did a bit of that in LA, and I’ve got some good movie contacts, and it’s a really good source of extra revenue for the artist and the label, and a soundtrack can get a new band huge exposure. I don’t need you to critique the concept, just ... I don’t have a degree or a diploma, and I’m not sure about the language and the business terminology. I’ve been checking it on online as I go, but I just need some input, maybe, to make sure it reads professionally, before I try and get investors.”_

_“So, it’s pretty much done then?”_

_“Yeah. I think so. Now the ‘easy bit’ right? Money and office space.”_

_“Email it to me when you get home and I’ll have a look tonight. And we can go over it after the next session.”_

_“Perfect. Thanks, Nate.”_

_“Least I can do. So, it’s still gonna be a few weeks till they sign off that I can drive and after this week, the appointments will be fewer, but longer. Is that going to be okay? I can use the therapy pool there. I thought I’d add that in after each session with Jono.”_

_“You’ve got a massive pool at home.”_

_“I know but I …”_

_“I get it,” she nods._

_“Do you?” he asks skeptically.  
“You don’t want anyone that pops in seeing you getting in and out of the pool until you can do it just like anyone else would. Right?”_

_“Is that … incredibly vain of me?”_

_“Yeah. But it’s also vintage Nathan Scott. It’s good. You’re back.”_

_“What does that mean?”_

_“Look. You’re used to being this guy. The fastest, the strongest, the proudest. When I came back, you were none of those. And the only one that worried me was the pride. You let yourself get into a really bad place, Nate, and you didn’t care who saw you like that. Now you care. You’ve got your pride back. Being the strongest and the fastest? That’ll come. I know it will. Look how far you’ve come already. In two short months. And yes … it is_ completely _okay for me to keep driving you, whatever the appointment schedule is.”_

_“You’re sure?”_

_“I told you I was in for the duration. This has been really … well, not awesome, because obviously, the reason sucks. But … it’s been … I’m just glad I could help. And I’m glad to have been kept busy. And I’m most glad that we’re buds again. I loved how we were Senior year. I feel like we have that back.”_

_“You had my back then, and you’ve had it these last few months. I really appreciate it, Sawyer. I … well, I know things aren’t easy for you right now.”_

_“Ahh. Whatever,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Let’s not talk about any of that. Let’s talk about the fact that we’re pulling into your street and in a bit, we get to see your lovely wife’s face when you go in upright.”_

_She pulls his Range Rover into the drive and immediately spots not just Haley’s car but also Lucas’ Mustang. That makes her revise her plans right away. Once he’s steady on his crutches, she slips Nathan’s keys into his shirt pocket and pulls the Comet keys out of her bag._

_“Alrighty. Same time day after tomorrow? With a pool session, yeah?” she asks breezily. But he’s not deceived._

_“Yeah but … weren’t you coming in?” he asks pointedly._

_She nods at the Mustang. “Not if Lucas is in there.” He’s surprised by how straight up she is about the reason. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go._

_“Sawyer, you have to …”_

_“No actually, I don’t,” she interrupts him firmly. “If it’s a celebration or a group thing or something, then yeah, I have to be a big girl and suck it up. But not when it’s just a chance encounter that can be avoided. I don’t need their …” she trails off, flustered and … what? Defensive and maybe even a little afraid? And was she looking at Haley’s car too?_

_“Their what? And who?”_

_“Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”_

_“Peyton. What’s going on?”_

_“Nothing. Go show off your crutches, Hotshot.” And she’s gone._

_He heads inside, wobbling a little as he passes his brother’s car. He puts his hand out to balance himself and finds the bonnet is still really warm. Luke hasn’t been there long. He gets inside and stops in the hallway to readjust his grip. He can hear voices; Haley, Lucas … and Lindsey. Maybe it’s just as well Sawyer didn’t come in; there’s certainly no love lost between her and Lucas’ fiancee. There were a couple of incidents not long after Peyton came back to town; some bitchy words, some accusations, and now it’s frosty at best. And there’s been other weird things too, but he hasn’t managed to put it all together yet._

_He can hear Haley preparing coffee. They really have been there only a few minutes by the sounds of it. Coffee is always her first task when people arrive._

_“So. Nate’s due back soon?” he hears Luke asking._

_“Any minute, I think,” answers Hales. There’s a pause. “Don’t worry, Luke. Peyton will probably just help him to the door then go. She doesn’t usually come in if she knows I’m here.”_

_Nathan frowns at that. Really? He hadn’t noticed that. What’s going on here?_

_“Oh, no …” Lucas mumbles, “it’s fine … I just …”_

_Lindsey cuts in. “It’s okay sweetie. Haley and I have got her under control. She knows to keep her distance.”_

_“What?” Lucas asks vaguely, distractedly. “What are you talking about?”_

_“Luke,” says Haley, “it’s fine. She knows how it is._ You’re _our priority.”_

_“And you’re being amazing, hon,” Lindsey continues. “She’s just waltzed back into town like she owns the place. You’ve been very gracious, but she can’t expect to just slot back in and have her old life back.”_

_“Lindsey, I’m sure she doesn’t …”_

_Lucas’ protests sound feeble to Nathan’s ears. Clearly, between Haley and Lindsey, he’s being outgunned and he’s not putting up much of a fight. He’s being kind of pathetic, actually. No surprises there._

_“Really, Luke?” Haley again, sounding quite strident, a tone she’s had more and more lately. “’Cos I think she thought she could have you back, and after what she did …”_

_“Well, she’s not getting him back, is she hon? You’re all mine now.”_

_“Linds. Hales. It’s really not like …”_

_“Oh, I think it is, honey. And I’m not letting you go! So, Haley, you’d better look out!”_

_“Me?” Haley splutters. “Why? Lindsey, you know Luke and I are just friends …”_

_“Oh, I don’t mean you and Lucas! I mean …_ she’s _always had a thing for Scott boys, and she’s not getting her claws back in to mine. It’s_ yours _that she’s spending hours with every second day.”_

_“Oh Lindsey, she’s just helping us out with transport until Nathan can drive again. I don’t think …”_

_“Just saying!” Lindsey warns. “You should watch her, Haley. It’s not like there’s no precedent for her going after another girl’s guy.”_

_“I think we’ve done enough to show her what’s up … she knows she can’t have Luke and we’ve kept her pretty isolated from the rest of us,” Haley says casually. “She knows it’ll only get worse if she pulls any stunts. And Nathan and Peyton are just friends.”_

_“Friends who used to date,” Lindsey reminds her._

_Lucas, who, in Nathan’s view, is still being far too quiet listening to this crap, steps in on that. “Lindsey, that was years ago.” It really sounds more like Lucas has said that to reassure himself than to appease either of the women, though._

_“Well, I think Haley would be wise to make sure Peyton isn’t around too much as soon as Nathan’s …”_

_Nathan’s heard enough; if Lucas isn’t going to man up and find out what the hell all this shit is about, then he is. And why isn’t Haley saying she trusts him and that there’s no issue here? He swings around the corner, already speaking._

_“As soon as Nathan’s_ what _, Lindsey? Walking? It’s my legs that need rehab not my dick. If I was gonna screw around on my wife, which I’m_ not _, it wouldn’t be tied to me walking again.”_

_“Nathan!” Haley squawks out. “I’m sure Lindsey …”_

_“Haley!” he imitates her exclamation of his name. “_ I’m _sure Lindsey has been mouthing off about Sawyer for the last few minutes and it sounds like the two of you have been mouthing off_ at _her for quite a while. What the hell’s going on?”_

_His brother chips in, rising to his feet. “Nathan, there’s no need to attack Lindsey.”_

_“_ You _can shut up.” He waves a crutch towards Lucas. “I’ve stood in the hallway for the last few minutes and what I’ve heard makes me feel sick to my stomach. I knew something was up but Peyton wouldn’t spill the beans. You two …” he gestures towards Haley and Lindsey “... have been hassling her, haven’t you? What’s it been? Nice little Queen Bee playground tactic like freezing her out?”_

_He waits and spots the look that passes between his wife and his brother’s girlfriend. There’s a degree of guilt on Haley’s face, but no remorse. And on Lindsey’s? Just triumph. He shakes his head._

_“Yup. What I thought. Real mature. And you,” he points at Lindsey, “you know, I wondered what you’d be like when you scratched the surface of that buttoned down, private school, Ivy league exterior. Looks like it’s pure A grade bitch underneath. I can guess what you’ve been up to; flaunting your girlfriend status at her constantly. Really rubbing her nose in it, I bet.”_

_“Lindsey?” It’s Lucas, clearly expecting her to deny it. Nathan can see that, but, in her insecurity, she misreads him._

_“Don’t you take her side, Lucas!” she demands, pointing an accusing finger at him._

_“I’m not!” Lucas replies, raising his hands in that ridiculous defensive gesture he uses when he feels under attack. “And anyway, there aren’t any sides here.”_

_“The hell there aren’t!” she bites back._

_“_ You’re _my fiancee._ Peyton _is my friend.”_

_“Oh yeah. Good one Luke,” Nathan scoffs at him._

_“What?”_

_“Keep up the charade,” Nathan says sarcastically. “The ‘we used to have a relationship, now we’re friends’ pretense.”_

_“That’s true!” Lucas insists adamantly._

_“If you really_ were _her friend, you wouldn’t have sat here while my wife and your girlfriend,” Nathan won’t say fiancée; he_ won’t _, “conducted a completely unfair character assassination. And you’d have known what they were up to with their bitchy games.”  
Nathan shakes his head then turns to his wife. _

_“Seriously Hales? You come home from school complaining about what little cows high school girls can be to each other, and here you are … you’re doing it yourself! To someone who has been nothing but good to us.”_

_“Well, I’m looking out for my friend, my_ best _friend,” Haley replies, sure of her stance, “and don’t forget she broke his heart, Nathan.”_

_“Ah, hello … in the room guys,” Lucas interjects. Nathan turns back to his brother._

_“Yeah. In the room,” Nathan says with narrowed eyes. “So, while you are_ in the room _, how about you finally front up and tell your best friend the truth.”_

_“The truth? About what?” Lucas asks, confused by the change of tack._

_“About what really happened in LA,” Nathan says, staring him down._

_“I … I ...”_

_“Nathan.” It’s Haley, as always, stopping him and stepping in to defend Lucas. “There’s no need to rehash this. Lucas is finally happy again. We don’t need to ...”_

_“Oh, I think we do,” Nathan says with a knowing tone. “You’ve gotten yourself sucked into making Sawyer’s life miserable based on your belief that she broke your best friend’s heart. I say it’s time we heard the whole story. What do_ you _say, Luke?”_

_“You know the story,” Lucas insists. “I proposed. She said no. The next day I got the phone call from Lindsey about publishing my book.”_

_Lindsey looks absolutely horrified, Nathan observes. She clearly didn’t know about even the most basic events of the days before she first met Lucas. Nathan, on the other hand, looks livid and explodes at his brother._

_“Tell Haley the_ truth _, Lucas, or I will!”_

_Haley throws her husband a frown, but there’s clearly something big going on and now she’s curious. “Luke. What’s he talking about?”_

_“Alright,” the blond concedes reluctantly. “I suppose her words weren’t exactly a straight ‘no’ … she said someday. But it was no, it felt like no.”_

_Nathan pushes. “Bullshit!”_

_“What?” Lucas asks impatiently.  
“It wasn’t anything like ‘no’. She even told you _why _it was someday.”_

_Lucas shakes his head and closes his eyes but when Nathan takes a half step towards him, he knows he’s not going to get out of this._

_“She said that we both needed time to achieve our dreams, that we were still too young.”_

_Haley’s aghast. “Lucas! You could have told us this! We’d still have been …”_

_“And …?” pushes Nathan.  
“What now, Nathan?”_

_“She told you outright that she_ did _want to marry you someday … that’s where the freaking_ someday _came from.”_

_“I ... I don’t really ...”_

_“Is that what she said or not?” Nathan half threatens.  
“Um ... yeah … I guess so.”_

_“Lucas, what else?” Haley’s voice is quiet, but there’s an element of determination that both the Scotts recognize._

_“She asked for a year, but …”_

_“I feel like you’ve_ lied _to me, Lucas,” Haley says with a frown. “You left out so much! I’d still have been there for you, you know that, but ... that wasn’t fair, not to me and your other friends who supported you. None of us were there for_ her. _God, Luke, she must’ve felt so abandoned! All because you made it sound ...”_

_Nathan isn’t done yet. “And …” he presses on._

_“Nathan. Stop it!” His wife shouts. “You’ve made your point. He’s still my …”_

_“Yeah, I know. Your_ best _friend,” Nathan says almost sarcastically. “Well_ your _best friend abandoned_ my _best friend alone in that freaking hotel room the next morning. No ‘let’s talk about this’. No ‘can we fix this’, no nothing. Not even a goodbye. He just scuttled away while she was still asleep. So, forgive me, Haley, if I’m not easing up on him.”_

_Lindsey has recovered from her shock and weighs in. “I’m not sure any of that even matters,” she says firmly. “She’s made it clear she still wants Lucas. And we’ve made it clear she can’t have him.”_

_Nathan just looks at her distastefully. “When was the last time either of you ...” gesturing at Lindsey and Lucas “… actually even saw her?”_

_He waits._

_“Weeks ago, right?” he says when they don’t respond. “Probably not since Haley’s birthday. Lindsey, you’re carrying on this ridiculous exclusion campaign based on a couple of interactions that happened weeks ago. Sure, she may have said and done stuff. And I know she regrets it. But she’s just put her head down for the last few weeks. She’s kept out of your way. She’s left you both alone. She’s focusing on other things.”_

_“She’s focusing on ... on the other Scott boy!” Lindsey accuses, looking just a bit rattled after the revelations of the last few minutes._

_“Lindsey you’re an idiot, an insecure idiot,” Nathan scoffs. “That’s total crap. She’s focusing on helping me get to my rehab, along with other stuff.”_

_“What_ other stuff _, Nathan?” Haley, sounding suspicious._

 _“Oh Christ, don’t buy into_ her _paranoia!” he exclaims, gesturing towards Lindsey. “The other stuff isn’t to do with me, alright? She’s working on some plans.”_

_“Right,” scoffs Lindsey, “some typical Peyton Sawyer boyfriend-stealing plans.”_

_Nathan waves his crutch at her. “No! Stop right there. This is how it’s going to be,” he instructs, glaring at her then at Lucas. “You’re my wife’s best friend and my brother and you,” turning back to Lindsey, “you’re his girlfriend and …”_

_“Fiancée,” Lindsey corrects firmly, having let it slide earlier in the conversation._

_“Whatever,” Nathan scoffs. “You clearly won’t let him out of your sight for long and I know I can’t stop you being in my house. But as long as my name is on the deed, you will not say a word about Peyton when you are in this house._ Not a fucking word _!”_

_“Nathan!” Haley exclaims._

_“Haley, don’t cross me on …”_

_“Nathan!”_

_“What!?”_

_“You’re on crutches! Where’s the wheelchair?”_

_“In the Range Rover.”_

_“You’re on crutches,” she says with that soft, amazed, almost reverent tone of voice that he usually loves.  Shame about the last few minutes; now that tone doesn’t feel very meaningful at all._

_“I’m on crutches,” he repeats. “And I’ll need them for only a few weeks. Then I’ll be walking unaided. Then I’ll be running.”_

_“Baby, that’s amazing. You’re back! I really have you back.”_

_“It_ is _amazing. And you know how I got here, Haley?” he asks, looking her square in the eyes. “Because_ Peyton _dragged me into the kids’ oncology unit and made me suck it up and face my demons and be grateful for what I still had and what was within my power to change. And because_ Peyton _took the time to get underneath my excuses and figure out why I couldn’t commit to the rehab here in Tree Hill. And because for the last two months, Haley,_ Peyton _has given up three or four hours, or more, every second day to take me to rehab. And what is_ really _amazing, Haley, is that after doing all for that for us, the thanks she gets is for you to be a prize bitch to her.”_

_“To be fair, I think she’s doing it for you, not for us,” Haley points out defensively._

_“Luke does stuff for you all the time, and vice versa. It’s no different.”_

_At the mention of his name, it’s as if Lucas wakens from a stupor. He stands and holds up his hands, gesturing that he’s out of there. Lindsey grabs her bag, throws Nathan a defiant look, gestures that she’ll call Haley later and follows her boyfriend out._

_“It_ is _different!” Haley responds to her husband._

 _“How?”  
“I never _dated _Luke!”_

_“Oh, my God, Haley. There is no reason for you to be insecure about Peyton. It was years ago.”_

_“You have to admit you’ve become very close.”_

_“Sure,” he says, spreading his hands. “But it’s just picking up the best friends thing we had Senior year. If she’d been in Tree Hill all this time, it would have been like this too. It’s not a_ change _.”_

_Haley shakes her head in denial. “You weren’t this close at high school.”_

_“Yeah. We were. You just weren’t around to see most of it,” he points out. “You were off gallivanting with Keller.”_

_“Oh great! Drag that up. And that makes me feel so much better about us ... telling me you got super close to her when I was away.”_

_“I’ve never hidden it!” he all but shouts. “Hales, what you’re failing to see here is that if it hadn’t been for Sawyer, it’s pretty damned likely that there wouldn’t even_ be _an us.”_

_“What?” she gasps. “How can you …?”_

_“_ She’s _the one that kept me going._ She’s _the one that helped me believe you’d come back. Fuck! She even drew a ‘sometimes they come back’ sketch for me._ She’s _the one that made me realise that I needed to put myself, and how I felt, first sometimes, if you and I were going to be able to recover.”_

 _“I know all that. You’ve said that before but ...”  
“No buts, Haley. You’re letting Lindsey’s insecurity and paranoia about Peyton rub off on you. Lindsey has cause to worry, quite frankly. _Anyone _can see Luke isn’t over Sawyer. Well ... anyone except Luke can see it. And you, apparently. The only thing_ you _need worry about is that I’m pissed at the way you’ve treated her. And I think you owe her an apology.”_

_“I’ll ... think about it,” she says with a frown that tells him she’s probably not going to give it much thought; that she’s fobbing him off._

_“You do that,” he says sceptically. “And while you’re thinking about it, I’ll be sleeping in the guest room.”_

_“You ... you’ll what?” she asks, shocked._

_“You heard me.”_

_“But ... you’ve never ...”  
“No. That’s your trick, isn’t it?” he says, looking her directly in the eye. “To withhold sex when you’re pissed at me. Well … welcome to my world, Haley James.”_

 

 

Back in the car, he realizes that he’s been talking for a really long time, looking at the road the whole time, and Peyton hasn’t said a word.  When he glances sideways he’s horrified to see tears on her cheeks.

“Sawyer? Fuck. I … I didn’t mean to upset you. You asked … I didn’t think that that Luke and Lindsey stuff would …”

She shakes her head vigorously, holding up her hand.

“It’s not that,” she says, grabbing a tissue from her bag and wiping her cheeks a little self-consciously. “I … I just … I remember you not being sure that Haley would be that excited about you getting out of the wheelchair and ... it makes me really sad that you were right about that ‘cos I thought you two were the most solid couple ever, you know? And … honestly? I didn’t realise how much you went into bat for me. I … well … thank you.”

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his hand over her arm for a few moments, “I’ve got your back, Sawyer. You know that.”  
“Yeah,” she says, with a nod and a smile. “Right back at ya.”

He drives on in silence for a while, as his head runs back to later on that same day, after Haley had gone to bed and he’d followed through on his declaration that he wouldn’t be joining her in their comfortable master bedroom until she’d done the right thing. And even though it was a complete one-off, and hadn’t been repeated since, this is not a memory he’ll be sharing with the woman in the car with him anytime soon.

_He assumes it’s because of the dramatic afternoon, and the suspicion bordering on accusation, but that night as he’s trying to get to sleep in the guest room, and for the first time in years, images of a green eyed, blonde beauty plague him, specifically one morning before school, just a few days before they split for the last time._

_Her car was in the shop, again. And he’d gone to pick her up for school. She wasn’t ready and he’d been hassling her to try and hurry her up. They’d been fighting, again, in the last few days, and had reached an uneasy truce, but the usual hot makeup sex hadn’t eventuated._

_“I’ll go without you,” he threatened, half way out the bedroom door._

_“Oh really?” There was something in her tone that made him turn around. She’d taken her T-shirt off._

_“You’re supposed to be ready, not getting ... less ready,” he complained._

_Her hands went to the front clasp on her bra. “Ready for what?”_

_“Peyton.”  
“Maybe_ I’ll _be the one doing something without_ you _,” she said in a sexy tone, with a raised eyebrow as she undid the clasp and let her bra fall to the floor. He was pinning her to the bed in seconds, pulling off those super low-rise jeans that revealed her hip bones, and covering her in hot kisses._

_“You’re not doing anything like this without me,” he growled at her. “You’re mine, Peyt.”_

_“Prove it, Scott. Prove you want me more than that slutty little Bear Creek cheerleader you were making eyes at last game.”_

_“I ... she ...”  
“Shut up. I’m not interested in your excuses right now, Nathan. Just do what you do so well, and do it now.”_

_He was thrusting into her within moments, but as incredible as it felt, as it_ always _felt with her, even as she gasped his name and arched beneath him, he could feel a change. Something had happened. Something in her tone of voice told him this was all about to be lost, and for good, this time. Despite the desperation, or perhaps because of it, being with her felt more intense than ever before. He slowed down, moved with awareness and determination, took as long as he possibly could while still moving powerfully until, eventually, the arch in her back, the shollowness of her breath and the awe in those green eyes that hadn’t strayed from his the whole time, had him gasping and pulsing in the strongest, longest climax he’d ever experienced._

_He’d barely recovered his breath when she flung her long, long leg over him and straddled him, leaning forward to deliver kissing and licking and sucking to his chest, to that goddam sexy nipple ring, while teasing him by rubbing her hips against him._

_“Babe, we’re going to be ...”_

_“Late. I don’t care. I have a free period first.”_

_“I don’t,” he retorted._

_“No. You’re getting a free_ ride _instead.”_

 _“Well, strictly speaking,_ you’re _riding_ me _right at the moment,” he said, smirking knowingly at her._

_She went to move her leg to get off him. “Complaining?”_

_“No! Don’t move,” he said, “or at least … don’t get off me._ Do _move. Keep doing what you were doing.”_

_She sat there, still, her hands resting on the hip bones that drove him mad, her small but perfect breasts right in front of him. He reached up to them, rolling his palms over her nipples._

_“Say please,” she taunted with a sexy smile._

_“I don’t beg for it,” he snapped back._

_This time she did move and, stony faced, she got half way off him before he grabbed her hand and pulled her back._

_“I’m sorry. I’m being an ass,” he winced. “Really. I’m sorry.”_

_She waited._

_“Peyt. I’m sorry. I don’t … I’m_ really _sorry. For everything.”_

_She wriggled suggestively against him. “Babe,” he whined. “Fuck, you’re so hot. I want you. I really want you.”_

_“You just had me.”_

_“Again. I need you again. Please?”_

_She reached down and began stroking him in the perfect way. He closed his eyes. God, she knew him so well, she knew everything he liked and just how to … he felt her move and a second later she was rolling another condom on to him and positioning herself on him, sliding down, and up … and down …  and his hips just took over and he was desperately pushing up into her, holding on to her sexy form and her beautiful wide-eyed green gaze as if his life depended on it. And he almost felt like it did._

_She raced into the bathroom afterwards for a quick shower, and he lay there for a moment, trying to figure out what was happening. But all he could come up with was that_ everything _was about to change, and he couldn’t word it any other way, even to himself. He followed her into the shower._

_“We are going to be so late,” she laughed._

_“Well I did tell you …” he trailed off as she raised her eyebrow impatiently._

_“Seriously? You just got laid … twice … and you’re pulling out an ‘I told you so’?”_

_He stopped her by kissing her, then wrapped her in a hug. “I’ve been a dick to you. I know I have. I’m sorry.”_

_She looked down, then straight up at him with a fierce yet distant look in her eyes._

_“You have to stop, Nathan. I can’t do it anymore.”_

_“I love you. I do.”_

_“I know. I know you do,” she said. “And you know I love you, too. But it’s not supposed to be like this. This … this is it. Last chance.”_

_“I’m trying. I am. It just … it’s like a perfect storm sometimes … just too much … and I break.”_

_“I know, baby, I do,” she assured him, her palms on his chest. “But I have perfect storms of my own. And I can’t let you break me too.”_

_“You always come back.”_

_“Not next time, I won’t. I can’t.”_

_“No next time, babe.”_

_“I wish I could believe that, Nathan.”_

_“Believe I love you.”_

_“I do believe that,” she smiled. But it was a sad, knowing smile. As if she, too, was feeling the change._

_“Promise?” he pressed, uncharacteristically emotional. “Promise you believe me.”_

_“I promise.”_

_“And believe I want you.”_

_He wasn’t actually being specific to_ right now _, but she looked down and raised her perfect eyebrow at him. “Oh, I can see that! The question is, what are we gonna do about it?”_

_“Make us even later for school?”_

_She pulled him in for a kiss that seemed to last forever, and he had her backed up against the shower wall in moments. This time was both passionate and tender, more loving than they’d ever been but they could both feel it was also desperate. A week later they were done._

 

 

He recalls that, that night in the guest room of his marital home, he’d jolted out of his half sleep/half dream/all slightly guilty fantasy because he’d remembered that she was going to send him her business proposal. He got out of bed, fired up his laptop in the study and checked. It was there. And it was good. Really, _really_ good. It wasn’t that late so he made a phone call, explained the situation, asked for secrecy and forwarded it on. He had a plan.

He had also had a bit of an epiphany. It had all fallen into place while he was laying in that guestroom. Well, maybe a couple more pieces had fallen into place. A conversation a couple of weeks before when he’d told Peyton he understood she wouldn’t be able to drive him for the next appointment; that he knew there was a girly _‘gossip session, oops sorry ‘lunch’ on’_. He’d air quoted the lunch. She’d looked momentarily lost and he’d thought it was his lame joke. But clearly, it was that she hadn’t been included in the lunch invitation. She’d covered well, and insisted that she had declined the invitation because she’d made a commitment to the driving to rehab, and, besides, he was right; salad and gossip did nothing for her. She much preferred burgers and dirty jokes, which is why she had lunch booked with Skills for the next day.

And, he’d recalled a coffee with his brother weeks before. Lucas had mentioned how nice it was that Lindsey was getting on so well with Brooke; that the two of them, and Haley, were also meeting for coffee that day. Nathan had noted the absence of Peyton’s name, but he’d put it down to the fact that Lucas was pathologically unable to say it (true). That night, in the guest room, he’d realized that it was more than that; it was this goddam exclusion campaign that Lindsey and Haley had been running. It had been going on for weeks.

 

Later in the morning, she’s finally got her hands on the wheel and has made the fatal mistake of crowing a little that she’s got rid of his music selection to play something halfway decent.

“You’ll pay for that,” he says with a smug smile.

“Hah! How?”  
“Your rules, Sawyer, I’m the passenger now and _I_ get to ask _you_ the hard questions.”

“There’s no need. I know what you’re going to ask.”

He looks at her with a ‘sure you do’ expression. She sighs.

“You want to ask about the build up to that panic attack. You want to know what Haley and Lindsey were doing.”

“Yup,” he says shortly. “Batter up, Sawyer. Spill.”

So, she tells him; not too much detail. It’s ancient history now, she feels. But enough about the digs, the bitchy comments, the arranging things with Brooke and making it look like they’d tried to include Peyton too, when she didn’t have a clue. He doesn’t let her get away with too much of a once over lightly; and he even laughs that Haley really should have known that Brooke wouldn’t be fooled over something involving Peyton for long. She tells him that’s actually pretty funny, because he and Brooke had gotten suspicious within a few days of each other.

“Really? When was that?”

“Toenails,” she replies.

 

_They’re on the way to rehab, still in the first month or so when it’s all kind of big, and new and a bit stressful for him, and he keeps looking at her oddly; she ignores it. He’s got a version of that look they’ve all had with her lately; the ‘poor P. Sawyer’ look. If she’s not yet sick of feeling like poor P. Sawyer, she sure as hell is sick of the poor P. Sawyer look. His is … not quite as soft and nostalgic and concerned as Brooke’s. Or as concerned but resentful as Haley’s. Or as concerned and something else as Skills’. But it is concerned and … puzzled?_

_She has no idea he’s not thinking about Lucas and her, or rather Lucas and not her but Lucas and Lindsey; he’s actually trying to put a few things together.  Skills had turned up the evening before with a six pack and a pile of Thai takeout. Haley was out ‘with all the girls’ getting their nails done, then having dinner down on the pier to enjoy the still warm Fall evening. So, he had sat out back with Skills, enjoying the food, limiting himself to two beers and even asking Skills to stop him if he went for a third; he wasn’t going down that alcohol soaked hole again, and he wasn’t too proud to ask for backup._

_After the usual blokey banter, their conversation turned to basketball, then to their circle of friends. Nathan had commented that he hadn’t caught up with Mouth lately, and Skills had replied that their friend was good and that he’d been to a movie with Mouth the Sunday night past. Mouth was dealing with some issues around his boss, who was harassing him, but that he’d recently had a pretty hot date with Brooke’s assistant. Nathan had pondered on that for a moment, and mused that he thought Haley and the girls has been at the flicks that night too, and that she said the four of them had had a great night._

_“Three,” Skills had corrected him as he reached for his beer._

_“No. Haley, Peyton, Brooke, Lindsey.”  
“Nope. No Skinny Girl.”_

_“Haley said four, I’m sure she did. Sawyer must’ve been in the bathroom or something.”  
“Nope. We saw them as we were all leaving the cinema, and we all walked out to the carpark together. No P. Sawyer and they wouldn’t have just left her in there on her own. The carpark’s dark.”_

_“But …”_

_Skills had looked at him, a frown forming._

_“Nate, man, what …?”_

_“Dunno,” Nathan had replied, shrugging and shaking his head, “I must’ve misheard.”_

_“Or …”  
“Or?”_

_“Playground politics?” Skills had suggested._

_“What?”  
“C’mon man, you know how girls get. Territorial.”_

_“That doesn’t make sense. Davis, Sawyer and Hales are like … sisters. Brooke wouldn’t …”_

_He’d stopped, wondering immediately why he knew that Brooke wouldn’t screw Sawyer over, but he wasn’t so sure about Haley. His own wife. Not with the way she’d been molly-coddling Lindsey lately._

_“Makes all the sense in the world if you’re Lindsey,” Skills had countered. “Divide and conquer, man. Divide and conquer.”_

_“Divide and conquer?”_

_“Get Luke’s other girls on side before the Lucas and Peyton show heats up again?”_

_“Hales is_ my _girl, thank you very much.”_

 _“You know what I mean.”_  
“Well … they’re all out getting a freaking ‘manipedi’ tonight,” he said using his fingers to create air quotes around that word. “And dinner, so …”  
“Four? Or three?”

 _“Hales said_ all _the girls.”_

_Skills had raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” he’d said cynically._

_“If you think … why aren’t you concerned? If you think there’s a … a patch war going on?”_

_“I’m watchin’.”_

_“But, it’s …”  
“Yeah, I know. It’s P. Sawyer. Been through enough. Like I said, I’m watchin’. And I’m catchin’ up with her myself a couple times a week.”_

_“No, I meant … it’s_ Haley! _She wouldn’t get into …”_

_“Man, you worry about your wife, and I’ll worry about Skinny Girl, alright?”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathan had asked suspiciously._

_“Nate, man. Haley James is just … not Haley James right now.  Maybe …”_  
“What?”  
“Maybe she’s hiding it from her husband or maybe you just don’t see it. But she’s … she ain’t Haley James right now.”

 _“No Because she’s Haley James_ Scott.”

_“Yeah. She ain’t her either.”_

_“No, I’d know if there was something …”  
“Dawg, you’ve had your own shit to deal with.”_

_“But …” he’d trailed off. He had been focussed on his own ‘shit’. He hadn’t noticed anything amiss, not to that degree anyway, with Haley, but … is he imagining it now or is there a gap? A distance? A divide?_

_In the car, he realises he’s been staring and snaps out of it, his glance falling to Peyton’s sandal-clad feet as she hits the brake hard when a jerk in the next lane cuts in front of them without any warning._

_“Nice toes,” he comments before he even realises the words are there, let alone that he’s going to say them. His gaze flicks to her hands. Freshly painted toes and fingers. A very Peyton Sawyer deep, dark red. He almost laughs out loud; relief that she was indeed in on the ‘manipedi’ outing, plus the realisation that he, Nathan Scott, can tell if a woman’s nails are freshly done. He’s been married such a long time._

_“Wow,” Peyton says archly, “times really do change.”_

_“What?”  
“Hmmm, let me think.  ‘You’ve got some ugly toes, girl.’”_

_“What?” he laughs. “You need to sack your ‘manipedi’ girl if she said that.”_

_Peyton laughs riotously at him._

_“What’s the joke, Sawyer?” he asks, completely baffled._

_“My ‘manipedi girl’? You’re not talking to Brooke, Nate.”_

_“But if she said that about you …”_

_“I did my toes myself.”_

_“What?”_

_Shit. So, she wasn’t in on the ‘all the girls’ outing._

_“It’s not exactly rocket science, Nathan. You should know this. You used to do mine; if you can do it …”_

_“No. I just … I thought you …”_  
“What?”  
“No. Nothing. Just … it looks like a good job. You didn’t get them done?”

_“Nope. Saving cash for what’s important,” she says, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. “So … what’s all this interest in my toes, Scott?”_

_“Nothing!”_  
“Right.”  
“Who said you have ugly toes?” he asks, in an attempt to move it away from him. Not so smart, as it turns out.

_“Ummm, that would be you, you jerk,” she answers with a raised eyebrow._

_“I’m serious! Who said that?”_

_“I’m serious too,” she laughs. “It was you.”  
“What? When?”_

_“In my room. You were painting them. You said they were ugly and practically like fingers. And I said …”  
“Right,” he says, partially covering his face with a hand. “’Focus on the middle one.’ I remember now.”_

_“Good times,” she says drily, rolling her eyes._

_“Oh, my God,” he says, shaking his head in embarrassment, “what the hell did you ever see in me?”_

_“Well,” she shrugs, with a quick glance at him and a sly grin, “as long as you weren’t using your mouth for talking, you had your moments.”_

_He looks wounded for a moment, then their eyes meet and, at exactly the same moment, they both erupt into laughter._

_“Good times,” he repeats. “You remember the rest of the conversation that night?” he asks after thinking for a moment._

_“You were_ never _gonna give up basketball,” she laughs._

 _“You were_ never _gonna give up cheerleading,” he counters._

_“It made me feel like my Mom was still … you know …”_

_“I know. And at that point, despite everything, basketball still made me feel like my Dad actually gave a …”  
“I know.”_

_Later that day, Peyton’s at home, drinking a coffee while sprawled on the couch with the TV on, when Brooke comes home, marches in, then paces up and down the living room for a bit.  Peyton looks at her, shakes her head, smiles, says nothing and waits. She knows Brooke’s working up to some sort of declaration.  The brunette eventually flops on the couch._

_“Nice toes,” she says to her roommate sarcastically._

_“What is_ with _you people today?” Peyton mutters._

_“What?”  
“Why the hell are you all so fascinated with my toes?”_

_“Peyton …” Brooke begins then trails off.  But her face is full of questions.  
“Brooke, what?”_

_“Where did you have them done?”_

_“My toes? I did them myself. God … today is just … weird!”_

_“P … you know, if you need …” Again, Brooke’s raspy voice trails away, leaving something hanging between them._

_“If I need what?” Peyton prompts._

_“You know I’m more than happy to float you …”_

_“Brooke! I’m living here rent free, and … anyway, where is this coming from? I’m okay … for now.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Sure. You know, I’m being careful, but I’m okay … ish.”  
“But … if you needed, you know, funds for fun? Like, I dunno, going out with the girls?”_

_“Brooke, seriously? I’m okay.”_

_“Ish.”  
“Ish is fine.”_

_“Peyton. Just … you …”  
“Brooke, talk to me! What is going on with you?”_

_“What is going on with_ me _?! What’s going on with_ you _!?”_

_Peyton stands and take her mug to the kitchen to rinse it._

_“Honey, if I had any idea at all what you’re on about, I’d tell you what you want to know,” she says, leaning on the counter and gazing at her friend._

_“What I_ really _want to know, or what you think I want to hear?” Brooke challenges._

_Peyton frowns and looks at Brooke in confusion._

_“She’s … just a girl, P.,” the brunette says gently._

_“Who?”_  
“Lindsey.”  
“Whoa. How did we go from my toes and my cashflow situation to … her?”

_“Peyton! C’mon! Just ... you have to give her a shot, at least.”_

_“No. I really don’t. And besides, I haven’t actually seen her anywhere for a while. Not that I have any problem with that, whatsover.”_

_“You can’t just … avoid her, and him, forever,” Brooke pushes._

_“Why not?” Peyton asks flippantly. “Sounds like a great plan to me.”  
“Peyton …”_

_“Brooke, I have enough on my plate, alright! I appreciate your concern, and the roof over my head, and the offer of financial aid. But I’m a big girl, and I’m okay. I just need to work through stuff my way. I need to … move on … my way.”_

_“Move on from who?”_

_“You know who.”  
“Just him? Or all of us?” Brooke asks pointedly._

_“What are you talking about now? I had a burger with Skills the other day. I’m stuck in a car with Nate for hours every second day. I’m having a weirdo don’t know what the hell’s going on discussion with you right now. Hey! It’s just like old times!”_

_“But …”  
“No buts, Brooke. I dunno what brought this on, but I’m fine. We’re fine. And I’m sorry, but I don’t have to be fine with Lindsey.”_

_“You worked things out with the last girl that stole Lucas when he should’ve been with you,” Brooke says winningly, with a ‘God I was so stupid’ smile and shrug._

_“Aah … but that girl knew how to build a snow fort, has a sexy ass tattoo on her sexy ass hip and is the only one I giggled with over losing my virginity.”_

_“That girl’s kinda worried about you. And … honestly, P? Also, a little pissed.”_

_“Worried? Okay. I get it. But I’m okay … ish … and I’ll get better. Pissed? Why?”_

_“You …. haven’t been around with us,” Brooke pouts._

_“So, we’ll do something,” Peyton shrugs._

_“Something … cost effective?”_

_“Sure. Whatever you want. Just tell me where and when.”_

_“With Tutor-Mom, too?” Brooke asks with a weird expression._

_“Sure.” Another unconcerned Peyton shrug._

_“And …?”  
“Brooke …” she warns._

_“If Lindsey was there?”_

_Peyton sighs then throws her hands in the air in defeat._

_“I’d do my best to be … coolly cordial if you did your best to be buffer. Good enough?”_

_They both head to bed, somewhat confused at the other’s utterances, but both knowing the conversation’s gone far enough._

_Two days later, Brooke’s out for walk with Haley and Lindsey, when her roommate runs past the end of the road they’re walking on. Headphones on, and with quite a speed up, Peyton’s in the zone, and oblivious to the three women walking towards her.  Brooke looks angrily at Haley, who shrugs and catches Lindsey’s eye. Something passes between them that makes Brooke nervous, or suspicious, or both. But her primary thought is that the conversation she had with Peyton the other day was a farce. When she gets home, Peyton’s in the shower, but that doesn’t stop Brooke storming into the bathroom._

_“Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, get your bony ass out here right now!”_

_“Jesus, Brooke! What’s lit a fire under you?”_

_“You! You … are you lying to me?”_

_“What?” Peyton asks, completely confused, as she steps out of the shower and wraps a large towel around her slender form._

_“You were out running!” Brooke accuses._

_“Um … yes.  Not very well. Trying to get back into it.”_

_“Why wouldn’t you walk with us?”_

_“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Peyton replies calmly._

_“Tutor-Mom, Lindsey and I went walking today.”  
“Okay?”_

_“You wouldn’t go with us.”_

_“I didn’t know you were going.”  
“God, you’re good!”_

_“Um … thanks? At?”  
“Lying!”_

_“Okay, Brooke,_ what _am I lying about?” she asks, hands on hips, a confused frown in place._

_“You knew we were going. You told Haley you couldn’t walk because you have a sore foot.”_

_“That’s not true.”_

_“Clearly! You were running on it!”  
“No,” she says, shaking her head so that little droplets of water fly from her wet hair. “I mean it’s not true that I said that to Haley. I didn’t _know _you were walking.”_

 _“But …”_  
“Can I get dressed now? I’m cold.”  
Brooke waves her into her room, where she dons jeans and an old Fall Out Boy tee.

_“P?”_

_“Uh-huh,” Peyton says from under a towel as she rubs her hair roughly._

_“Did you know about the movies? Or the manipedi? Or dinner?”_

_“What movies, manipedi and dinner?” she asks as she emerges from under the towel and heads towards the bathroom to hang it up._

_“Um …”_

_“Brooke? What’s going on?”_

_“Um … I’m an idiot?”_

_“True,” Peyton shrugs with a grin. “On occasion. But you’re my BFF idiot. What’s the trouble, bubble?”_

_“All this stuff I’ve been doing with Haley and Lindsey …”  
“You have?” the blonde asks, turning around, surprise apparent._

_“Yeah. And I’ve been getting more and more angry that you keep refusing to go.”_

_“Huh. Right. You mean … go to these things Lindsey organises that I know nothing about?”_

_“Yeah,” Brooke winces. “Them. She … kept saying that she’d asked you and … you made excuses … and Haley sort of backed her up, and said just to let you be and give you time and … it made sense, you know …”_

_“So …_ now _am I allowed to be quite okay with not seeing Perfect Lindsey around?”_

 _“Yeah.”_  
“Good.”  
“P?”  
“B?”  
“Haley …”

_“In on it.”  
“But … she’s Haley. She doesn’t … I’ve been so busy getting the store sorted out and … I was just so pleased not to be the one doing all the social secretary stuff, you know?  You and I have been like ships passing in the night.”_

_“Brooke … I … she’s been kind of off with me since we came back. I ... I guess she blames me for … well, you know …”  
“LA proposal debacle?”_

_“Yeah. She’s protecting her best friend. I get it.”_  
“You’re being way too … you.”  
“Hey. I have my BFF. That’s all I need to be okay.”

_“I’ll talk to her.”  
“No! Just leave it.  Give it time, Brooke. Don’t force it.”_

_“Are we ...?”  
“Okay? Of course, we are. Ice cream?”_

_“God yes.”  
“So this is what all that hoo-hah about my toes was about?”_

_“Uh-huh.”_

_“Hmmm,” Peyton ponders, thinking about Nathan’s questions. Clearly, he was thinking something was up, too._

_“You okay?”_

_“Yeah,” she smiles, “Just deciding what flavour.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First few days on the road for Nate and Peyt, plus more filling in gaps via flashbacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, because I've forgotten to do it so far, obviously I don't own the characters, but the story is mine.

There must be a big convention on in Raleigh because they drive past several motels with No Vacancy signs up. When they finally spot one with a Vacancy sign in neon, they pull in and head to the office, where a perky young woman is in attendance.

“Please tell us you still have a couple of rooms,” Peyton bursts out as she approaches the desk.

“No, I’m sorry.”  
“But the sign …”  
“I don’t have a couple, I’m sorry. I have just one.”

“Oh,” she says, looking at Nathan. He shrugs.

“Now you’re gonna tell me it’s just one bed, right? We’re in a cheesy romcom and we can’t get two rooms and there’s only one bed.”  
The receptionist looks Nathan up and down and turns back to Peyton. Her look clearly says ‘and you’re complaining, why?’ but she smiles politely.

“It’s more expensive than the others and that’s why it’s still available. It’s big and there’s two queen beds.”  
“Oh. Great! Well, we’ll take it. Is there a gym nearby that allows casual workouts?”

“About half a mile down the road,” the receptionist replies, reaching over to a display of information and handing a card to Peyton, who passes it straight to Nathan.

Half an hour later, he’s headed off to the gym and she’s immersed in catching up on email, sending instructions to Keller, and shortlisting a couple of venues to head to later that night. By the time Nathan has run back to the motel after a workout that lasts hours, she’s done and is getting ready to head out.  He insists she waits for him to shower so he can accompany her.

“Nathan! I’ll be perfectly fine!”  
“Sure. But I’m still going. Besides, we both need to eat, right? And eating alone in a restaurant sucks.”

She sighs but sits and waits. She _does_ hate eating alone in a restaurant. Maybe it’s kind of okay having someone look out for her a little bit.

Dinner is great. The night’s music is anything but. After an hour in one place and even less in the next, she taps him on the shoulder, shakes her head and gestures towards the door.

“Oh, thank God,” he laughs. “I’m glad you didn’t like them; they were awful!”

“Well, chances of finding the next big thing on the first night are pretty slim, right? Feel like a movie?”

They head back to the motel and their room and, while she heads to the bathroom, he collapses on one of the beds and cues up an on-demand movie. When she flops on the other bed he tells her not to be so stupid and to _get over here_.  
“I beg your pardon?”

“Get over here, Sawyer!”

“I’ll do no such thing!” she says, mildly outraged.

“Oh, get over yourself, woman! I’m not propositioning you. It’s a sad movie; you know you’ll cry and then you’ll want someone to hug you. So just get over here already.”

She refuses, but an hour later when it starts getting _really_ sad, and her eyes are getting teary, he laughs at her, pauses the movie and disappears to the bathroom for a few minutes. When he comes back, he pauses to grab something out of his bag then resumes his place leaning back on the pillows of his bed. When he doesn’t immediately restart the film, she looks over at him questioningly.

He pats the spot next to him but she just glares at him from her own bed and resolutely watches the screen, waiting for the movie to restart. When she hears paper tearing she looks back at him, her curiosity piqued. He shows her the package and she glares again, watching while he breaks off a couple of squares and puts them in his mouth.

“Jerk,” she mutters.

“Mmmmm,” he moans, really hamming it up. “It’s _good_.”  
“Is that like … 80% dark?”

“Mmmmm,” he says, nodding. “ _Really_ good, too.”

“I can smell it,” she sulks. “Dark _and_ infused with orange?”  
“Your favourite,” he says as if commenting on the weather.

“Jerk,” she mutters again. He simply chuckles, pats the bed again and gestures towards the screen. “He’s going to die in a minute, you know that, right?”  
“I _know_!”

“Get over here, girl and I promise I won’t say I told you so.”

“You just did,” she mutters, but she moves and he breaks off a row of chocolate and passes it to her before wrapping his arm around her.

By the end of the movie, she’s well and truly sniffling and he’s laughing at her sentimentality and she’s thumping his arm and he’s showing her that they’re down to one square of chocolate.

She pulls her best puppy dog eyes at him but he just laughs and pops it into his mouth with a mischievous grin.

“You are so mean!” she declares.

“I’m sorry? I buy your favourite chocolate and I share it with you and I’m _mean_?”

“Yes.”

“ _So_ ungrateful! Here you are, lying in bed with a hot guy and …”  
“Hah! Lying _on_ the bed not _in_ the bed and … and Road Trip Rule Number 4! Stop with the innuendo!”

“But I’m so good at innuendo … among other things,” he adds suggestively.  
“Nathan! Stop it!” she says, though she’s laughing. “Anyway,” she says, remembering their conversation at the wedding reception a few days ago, and poking him in the ribs, “we’ve already established you’re not up to your former standards in that regard.”  
“Oh my God, you’re evil.”

She sits up and turns to him, holding her hand out as if holding a microphone under his chin. “So,” she says, in a pretty passable imitation of Mouth’s commentator voice, “we’re here with the Charlotte Bobcats latest recruit, the Comeback Kid Nathan Scott, who’s out to recapture his position as the East Coast’s leading ladies’ man. Nathan, tell us about these rumours we’re hearing that you’re resorting to bribing girls with chocolate to get them into your bed? How does it feel to be reduced to this? Do you think you can ever reclaim your glory days?”

“I am _never_ sharing chocolate with you again!” he vows.

“Or you’ll get wise and give me the last piece,” she retorts.

To her surprise he grabs her, hugs her and kisses her on the temple. “Fuck, I missed this, Sawyer. It’s really good to have you back in fine form.”  
He rolls away from her, hits the light switch beside his bed to turn the room lights off, grabs the remote and turns the TV screen off. She hears him rustling about undressing then realises he’s sliding under the covers.

“You getting in, or what?” he asks, his back turned to her, as he removes his watch and drops it on the nightstand. She’s paralysed for a minute, then, unaware that she’s even made the decision, she removes her jeans and slides into bed next to him in her T-shirt and underwear.

“Night, Sawyer,” he mumbles, already half asleep. She’d forgotten how quickly he could go from awake to out like a light.

“Night, Nate.”

 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep, or what time it is, but she becomes aware, slowly, that there’s a hand on her hip. A large hand. A large, male hand. And it’s shaking her, trying to wake her up without being too sudden. It takes several moments to figure out who it is.

“Nate?”

“Wake up,” he mumbles sleepily.  
“Rule 4.”

“What?”

“Get your hand off me, you perv.”

“No! Phone.”

“What?”  
“Get your damn phone!”  
“Why?”  
“’s ringing constantly.”

“’s on silent.”  
“Vibrating on night stand. Noise. Make it stop, Sawyer.”

“It’s not …” she protests, but then it starts.

“Huur—rmmmph,” she complains, reaching over to pick it up. Oh boy. This is going to be trouble. Brooke.

“Hello?” she answers, still not fully with it.

“PEYTON ELIZABETH SAWYER! It’s just as well you’re alive, ‘cos now I can bloody well kill you!”

“Hang on,” she says, slipping out of the bed and walking into the bathroom and closing the door so she doesn’t disturb Nathan any more than her phone already has. “Brooke. Hey,” she says as she slides to sit on the bath mat and lean back against the side of the tub.

“’ _Brooke. Hey!?’_ she says! Peyton, what the hell?”  
“Brooke do you have any idea what time it is?” she asks blearily.  
“Late. Ish.”  
“Brooke, it’s after midnight.”  
“I just got home.”  
“From your latest booty call with Owen?”  
“From the store. We were doing inventory. Imagine my surprise when I walk in the door to find a note from by besty telling me she’s gone! Vamoosed!”

“Brooke. That’s not what the note says.”  
“Let me see,” her friend replies, then starts reading aloud, in a very sarcastic tone. _“Hey B. Heading off for a few weeks looking for new acts for the label. NC, SC, Georgia. Maybe a bit further afield. Will keep in touch. Love you, P. PS. Don’t worry. I’m fine! Promise!!”_

“Like I said,” Peyton says, “not gone, not vamoosed; working.”

“Peyton, telling me not to worry about you is like ... like … oh I don’t know what it’s like. But it’s not gonna happen! I _am_ worried.” Brooke has calmed down a bit, but she’s still on a mission.

“Hon, I appreciate the concern, and you have been amazing to me for the last few months but I’m really fine. I promise. And I need to do this; I need more than one money-spinner for RBR or I’ll be living with you for the rest of my life!”

“Would that be so bad?” Brooke whines.  
“Living with you is awesome, B. Davis but we are gonna have to grow up one day.”  
“And running away is how you’re _growing up_?”

“Brooke, I’m _not_ running away,” she insists.  
“P., are you forgetting the love of your life got married two … three days ago and that it wasn’t to you? You _are_ running away.”

“Brooke,” she says with a sigh, “I know you don’t believe this, but I am really and truly not running away. Not from Lucas, not from _Lucas and Lindsey_ , not from Tree Hill, and not from anything. I really just need to find more acts for the label, and this is a good time, while Mia’s away.”

“Not-So-Blondie-Anymore, I really want to believe you but … how can you be okay with all this when we’ve always said people that are meant to be together will always wind up together, and he’s wound up with Manface Lindsey. Don’t you believe in that dream anymore?”  
“Yeah, I do actually,” Peyton replies.

“Then why …? I mean … what’s … I mean … if you believe it too … then … aaghh!”  
“Brooke … it’s fine and it’s fine exactly because I _do_ believe it, Brooke. That’s what makes me know. I really have accepted that Lucas and I are _not_ meant to be together.”

“You don’t mean that.”  
“I do though. Look … how much bad timing, how many misunderstandings, how many mistakes does it take until … you just finally understand that it’s _not_ supposed to be that hard?”  
“But … stuff happens in all relationships.”  
“Yeah, sure, stuff happens and you face it together, once you’re in that place … but it’s not supposed to be this hard to get to the same place at the same time. It’s just not.”

“And … you’re really okay with this?”  
  
“Brooke, I know you will have grilled Nate after you sent him in to check out my state of mind at the wedding reception. What did he tell you?”  
“He said you were fine, but …”  
“He was right, Brooke. Truly. Can I tell you what I told him? That made him believe I’m okay?”  
“What? That you’ve hired a hitman and you’re taking Manface Lindsey out?”

“Brooke! You need to hear me on this, okay?”  
“Okay.”

“I thought the wedding was going to be awful. We all thought I’d crack up, right?”  
“Right.”

“But I realised something when I saw him standing at the altar, right before he said his vows. I realised it’s _over_ , Brooke. And I don’t mean it’s over because he proposed to someone else and married someone else. I mean it’s over because _I’m_ over it. I’m over _him_ and I’m over _it_.”

“But P., that’s years of history and feelings and love … how can it just be over in an instant?”  
“It wasn’t over in an instant. It took months. Well, let’s be honest; it took years. It took being left along in a hotel room by someone that knew how I felt about being left and who I never thought would leave me, not like that anyway. It took him treating me really, _really_ badly over the last few months. And it took me seeing him standing next to his brother in a church, his awesome brother who used to be a prize shit and is now one of my best friends, for me to realise that these days Lucas Scott is just not the guy he used to be.  Brooke, I’m over him because he isn’t _him_ anymore. And I think you know that’s true.”

“He’s not him because he’s not with _you_ ,” Brooke argues. “P, after he left you in LA and came to New York, you know what he told me? He told me he didn’t know how to be without you. And it’s true. _That’s_ why he’s not him right now.”

“It’s not just _right now_ , though, is it? It’s been for a long, _long_ time. And I’ve spent too much of my life waiting around for Lucas Scott.”

“But so much of that waiting around was because of _me_ ,” Brooke counters guiltily. “Because of me being stupid and keeping you two apart. If I hadn’t been so selfish and stupid, you two would be like Naley.”  
“Brooke, there is no Naley anymore, remember? But yeah, you’re right. If _Leyton_ had worked out in high school, we probably would be right where Naley is; and by that, I mean divorced.”

“Do you really believe that?” Brooke asks a little incredulously.  
“Brooke, I really, really believe that I am right where I need to be. Please, hear this; I’m fine. I’m not running. This trip is about the label and yes, I do think a little break from Tree Hill will help clear my head, but that’s just … resetting my normal. My normal has been mooning about and being a depressing and crappy roomie for too long. I’ll be back in four or five weeks, hopefully with some kickass new acts, and definitely with a kickass new attitude.”

“Okay,” Brooke sighs. “But …”  
“But what?”  
“You’re driving and going out to pubs and clubs alone, at night, with no one looking out for you.”  
Peyton nearly tells her, nearly admits that she has the equivalent of a personal bodyguard with her, but something stops her.

“Brooke, when I’m scouting the first thing I do is introduce myself to the club manager or the bar crew and let them know why I’m there. I’ve always done it out of courtesy, but the spinoff is that they look out for me. I’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll take cabs. I won’t walk around on my own at night. Plus … I’ve got a good rental car with breakdown cover. I’ll be fine.”

“You didn’t take the Comet? Then, where is it? It’s not here.”  
“It’s at the studio.”  
“Ohmigod; the studio! How can you leave the studio unattended for that long?”  
“I … I have a studio sitter?” she says a little hesitantly, knowing it makes it looks like this was all preset, rather than a last minute falling together of unrelated things.  
“Really? You been planning this for a while? ‘Cos that would mean you _are_ running …”  
“No! I only started thinking about it over the weekend and it panned out ‘cos someone I knew got in touch looking for few weeks’ work and a place to crash.”  
“Someone from LA?”

“Um … not really.”

“Peyton … that’s your ‘avoiding the question’ tone.”  
“I know. Look ... you might want to avoid the studio and Tric for a while.”

“Why, who did … Oh my God,” she says as it dawns on her. “Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer! _You didn’t!?”_

“I did … maybe … if you’re thinking that I took on …”

“Chris Keller?”  
“You’re good, Davis, I’ll give you that.”

“You realise now I have to avoid the bar where my _I don’t know what this is but maybe he’s my boyfriend_ works?”

“Um. Sorry?”

“Bah! You really don’t deserve me; you know that?”  
“You’re right. I really don’t.”

“So … these are Brooke’s rules for this little talent scouting trip of yours.”  
“ _Brooke’s_ rules?”

“Yes. You have to text or phone me when you leave each town and tell me where you’re heading to. You have to text or phone me when you arrive safely. You have to text or phone me when you are safely tucked up each night. If you do not obey Brooke’s rules, Brooke will be phoning you constantly to check up on you, and possibly flying into wherever you are to kick your ass with her Jimmy Choos. Are we clear?”  
“Yes, Mom.”

“P. Sawyer, I am _serious_ here!”

“I know you are. And I love you for it. I’ll play by Brooke’s rules. I promise.”  
“Okay. So where are you right now?”

“Raleigh. Safely in a motel for the night. Heading out tomorrow. Right now, I’m not 100% sure where to but I’ll let you know when I leave tomorrow, okay?”  
“Okay. You have my permission to continue.”  
“Oh really? Why thank you, Your Majesty!”  
“Just play by the rules, girl, or it’ll be off with your head!”

“Can I go back to sleep now?”  
“Yes. I love you, P. Sawyer.”  
“I know you do. Right back at ya, B. Davis.”  


She intends to go back to sleep in the other bed so as not to disturb him any further, but when she opens the bathroom door, he sleepily pulls the covers back gesturing for her to get back in. She figures she’ll disturb him more if she refuses than if she just goes with it.

“How’s Brooke?” he mumbles.

“Okay now. She was spitting tacks to start with. Sorry about waking you.”  
“’S’ok. She was just worried about you, right?”

“Yeah. Took some persuading that I’m not …”  
“… running away from my dumbass brother and the Ice Princess?”  
She couldn’t help it; she had to laugh.

“Yeah. I think she believes me now. But I’m travelling under Brooke’s Rules now.”  
“Yeah?”

“Regular checking in by text or phone ‘cos she’s worried about me travelling alone.”  
“You didn’t tell her I’m with you?” he asks curiously.

“I nearly did, but …”  
“Yeah,” he replies. “I ran into Skills just before I picked up the car this morning and I _nearly_ told him too.”  
“Weird huh?”

“I just … I dunno.”

“Me too. Hey, Nate?”  
“Mmm?”

“Sorry I called you a perv.”

“Was a _bit_ presumptuous, Sawyer. I mean … I know I’m the hottest thing around and all but …”  
“Jerk.”

“Just make sure your phone’s buried in your bag or something, will you?”

“Already done.”  
“Good.”  
“Night, Nate.”  
“Night. Again.”

When they pull into a motel the next day, he asks for one room. She doesn’t say a word.

 

**Day 3**

_Morning B. Up and at’ em! Leaving around mid-morning. Heading to Durham. Have a great day, besty. Love you. P_

 

“Rise and shine, lazybones!”

He’s sprawled on his stomach and turns his head to look up over his shoulder. “What?”

“Get up! We didn’t start the running thing yesterday, so today’s the day!”

She’s all business; hands on hips and when the hell did Peyton Sawyer become a morning person?

“Urrgh. Time?”

“Early.”

“How early?”

“7.”  
“That’s late. For me.”  
“And yet I’m up and dressed and you’re still speaking in words of one syllable,” she quips back perkily. Perky? Peyton? At 7am?

He rolls over, rubs his eyes and sits. She’s in some short (damned short) shorts and a racer back tank with bright red sports bra straps showing, and with her hair hauled back in a tight ponytail.

“Who knew you even realised the day started before 9, Sawyer?”  
She rolls her eyes at him and starts stretching. He admits she does seem to know what she’s doing, on the stretches anyway. She works her way through hamstrings, quads, calves, shoulders and lower back before she starts a tough ITB stretch.

“You gonna move your ass anytime soon, Scott?”  
“Just enjoying the view,” he smirks.

“You’ll be enjoying the back view as I whip your ass on this run,” she replies.

“Ohmigod you’re walking into a filthy comment on that,” he says, throwing the covers off and standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

“Just … get dressed and get stretched. I’m waiting downstairs. Just so I can, you know, resist all that hotness of yours,” she says drily.

He kicks into the run at an easier pace than he’d normally start out, then quickly realises he really doesn’t have to. He’s not _really_ a runner, and he knows it, but he does it every day for the aerobic workout, though he also knows it’s the cone sprints and the rolling starts drills and the suicides and the wall explosions drills and the countless others that really hone him for game fitness, but the five to ten miles a day is good for stamina. And besides, he likes getting some exercise in fresh air instead of a sweaty smelling gym. But he’s never really run _with_ anyone. He thought he’d have to check his natural pace for her. In fact, he thought this would be weird; that she’d want to chat or be too slow, or whatever. But she doesn’t say a word. She indicates that he should set the pace then inserts her earbuds and just … sits on his shoulder, a pace or two back, and far enough to the side that their arms aren’t smacking into each other. And he finds it’s kinda nice.

After a couple of miles, he starts wondering what she’s got, so he picks it up a bit.  She doesn’t pick the change in pace so he gains a few yards on her quite quickly, but soon enough she’s back on his shoulder and throws him a grin when he raises an eyebrow at her. She gives him a ‘do your damnedest’ gesture with her right hand, and he laughs and does just that. It takes him another three gear changes before she doesn’t catch him again easily.

He really kicks in a mile from ‘home’ and beats her back to the motel by more than a minute, not that he’s counting. But he’s still breathing hard when she arrives and she simply runs past him with a wee wave, runs up the stairs and beats him into the shower. And damn, she takes her time in there.

 

By lunchtime they’re in Durham. He strikes it lucky with a tough pickup game at a public court near the campus of the college that was a big part of his dream and, had he made a few different choices, would’ve been _his_ school. A bunch of sassy college kids are keen to take him on, calling him Old Man. He earns their respect pretty damned quickly, but they push him hard. When he gets back to the motel he’s so tired he can barely drag himself into the shower and shortly after that he falls asleep, starfish style, on the bed.

She puts in a solid six hours while he’s working on his game and sleeping. She’s happy that Chris has got things under control and nothing major has come up in the last couple of days, so she can focus on stepping in on a few things for Mia, and researching a few more bars and clubs to check out while she’s on the road.

She’s changed and done her hair and makeup and is ready to head out to a couple of bars, but Nathan’s still asleep and she really doesn’t want to wake him. She knows he’ll _have words_ with her if she goes out alone, but decides to deal with that later.

“Hold your horses, Sawyer,” he instructs as she’s only a couple of steps from the door.

“Go back to sleep, Nate,” she says as she turns to look at him. “You clearly need it, and I’ll be fine.”

“You _will_ be fine,” he agrees. “‘Cos you’re parking your sweet ass on that chair over there for ten minutes while I get changed. Then we’ll head out.”

“Nathan …”  
“Sawyer …”

“Fine,” she grumbles taking a seat.

“Why, yes, I am,” he retorts. “Glad you agree.”

Dinner is great again, but it’s another bust on the music front. One band started strongly then deteriorated into a screaming match on stage towards the end of their set. Nope, nope and nope.

When they turn in that night, in that one bed, she digs her finger into his side and asks him, slightly cheekily, if he can bear to run with her in the morning, or did she cramp his style too much?  
“You’ll do,” he says.

She takes it as the compliment it was intended to be.

**Day 5**

_Good morning B. Davis. Close but no cigar on the music front last night. Beautiful day here. Off to Fayetteville. Will let you know when I’m safely in. P. Sawyer_

 

It was a particularly late night the night before. She’d finally … yeah, she knew it was just day four but it felt like forever … seen a band that might be worth pursuing and they’d hung around until the early hours so she could speak to them, to find they all had day jobs, families, that they saw music as a release but really didn’t want to pursue a fulltime career with it.  None of her powers of persuasion dented their resolve.

She and Nathan were almost out the door when one of them chased after them and pressed a post it into Peyton’s hand.

“What’s this?” she asked, a little excited. “Change your mind?”  
His ‘No. Never’ had her deflating instantly. “But you clearly know your stuff and I like the way you think. That’s my sister’s contact details; Sarah. She runs a group of four bars in Savannah. Has live music at all of them. I’ll give her a call tomorrow and let her know you’re worth talking to … if you’re planning on heading that way?”

She thought for a moment. “It’s a … possibility.”

“So, I’ll call my sis. Go see her. She’s got a great ear; she doesn’t have any crap bands play.”

They still get up and run, despite only a few hours’ sleep, but the car has been rather quiet all morning. Late morning, they gas up and change over to him driving before they push on to Fayetteville.

“You alright?” she asks after a while.

“What? Yeah, fine. Why?”

“Not really used to a quiet car,” she laughs. “And you’re not playing crappy music.”

He’d chosen some old-school Stevie Wonder, and that surprised her more than a little bit. He’d laughed that he was glad he could still surprise her after all this time.

“Well,” she says, “as long as you’re okay.”

“I was just thinking about how yesterday I was lighting it up on a basketball court, and this morning I ran eight miles …”  
“Just a little basking in your own glory, then? Nice one, Scott.”

“Or if you’d let me finish … where I was heading, was that a year or so ago, I was in a wheelchair.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, reaching out to place her hand on his arm for a moment. “You’ve come a long way. And in a couple months, you’re back on that court for real. It was worth risking it all, huh? You knew it.”

He shakes his head.

“I didn’t know it,” he demurs. “Not really. I got lucky; this crazy girl I know … knew just what buttons to push and just what questions to ask.”

“Well, _she_ sounds awesome!” Peyton laughs.

“Oh, you have no idea.”  
  


_She’s brought him to rehab at Tree Hill Memorial and watched him put in the most pathetic effort she could have imagined. This is_ not _Nathan Scott, or not any version of Nathan Scott she’s ever known. So, pushing his wheelchair, she’s detoured up to pediatric oncology and she’s just given him a mini lecture about how the kids on this ward, many of whom won’t make it, would probably love to have his life and he’s sitting; silent, surly, unresponsive. The silence that follows after her spiel penetrates though and he looks up, expecting to see an arched brow, hands on hips or both. Instead. he sees her back; she’s walking away from him._

_“Peyton!” he yells at her in disbelief._

_She has flashes running through her head, flickering like an old movie. All from this damned building. Her Mom, tubes inserted, machines beeping. Lucas after that car accident with Keith. Nathan after that racetrack wreck. Herself after the shooting. Nathan again, plus Cooper and Rachel; the limo into the river incident after Nathan and Haley’s vow renewal. Karen with preeclampsia, and the traumatic birth of Lily. Haley being mown down by that creep, Daunte. It’s too much and she can’t cope with it any longer. But somehow Nathan’s voice cuts through._

_“Sawyer!”_

_She turns. He’s mortified to see tears streaming down her face. It’s the first time he’s really reacted to someone else’s emotional state since his accident. And that in itself makes him feel really shitty._

_“I can’t, Nathan,” she says, shaking her head. “This place ... I’ll wait out the front for you. I’m sorry. Just ... look at those kids for a minute. Seriously? Your life could be so much worse.”_

_Out the front, she’s sitting on a bench, her head in her hands, when he wheels himself up to her, faces her and gently takes her hands from her face and holds them. Her head remains bowed._

_“Sawyer. C’mon. Look at me.”_

_She does, opening and closing her mouth but nothing comes out. She’s a goldfish._

_“Your Mom?” he asks knowingly._

_“All of it. I just had this massive rush of everyone that’s been in here. My Mom. Lucas. You. Haley. Karen. Even Rachel and Cooper. It’s just … too much. This town ... it’s a freaking Bermuda Triangle of tragedy!”_

_“Yeah. We’ve had more than our fair share, right?”_

_“I’m sorry. Right … um … let’s get back to you,” she says as she pulls herself together. “And_ beating your ass _about refusing to put any effort into that rehab session. You were pathetic!”_

_“Nice, Sawyer,” he says, rolling his eyes. But there’s a bit of him, maybe more than bit, that admires her for taking him on. For ignoring the chair, the disability, and just laying into him._

_“You were! Refusing to push it.” Her refusal to pander to him make him … honest._

_“You know ..._ refusing _? That’s not really what it is.”_

_“So then tell me what it really is, Nate,” she pleads._

_“Don’t you just want to tell me to stop making excuses and move on to what’s next? Like everyone else has?”_

_“Maybe I will,” she shrugs, “but gimme the story first. Why are you so averse to putting the effort into rehab? I_ know _how proud you are, but no one’s above needing help. And you’ve never been so afraid of failing that you won’t try.”_

_“It’s not about pride, or failure. I just ...”_

_“Nathan,” she breathes, rubbing her thumbs over his. “C’mon. It’s just me.”_

_And he looks into those eyes, and all his resolve crumbles. He’s kind of been hanging out for someone -_ anyone _\- to look at him like that and ask him_ why _. Not with pity or frustration or anger or disappointment. Just with a genuine, true desire to understand what’s in his head. And here that person is. He thinks he probably should have known, the minute he heard she was back, that she’d be the one to ask._

_“Peyt, I can’t give up the dream yet. I just can’t do it. And these guys?” he gestures back to the hospital entrance. “They’re okay, if you’re looking to walk again, or have an almost normal life, but not if …”_

_He trails off but she knows him, and she knows where he’s going with this._

_“… not if you want it all back?” she prompts gently._

_“Yeah. And I know that sounds nuts.”_

_“Sure. But dreams are always a little out there, right? So ... ‘these guys’?”_

_“The rehab options here, in Tree Hill.”_

_“Does that mean there’s another option?” she asks curiously._

_“Jacksonville. There’s a guy there, Jono Newman. He’s had amazing results with serious athletes.”_

_“So … go.”_

_“Sawyer. It may have escaped your notice but I can’t drive right now. It’s more than an hour’s drive each way. I’d freaking well walk there if I could but then … if I could walk there, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all, now would we?”_

_Comprehension dawns and she wonders firstly, why she’s been a bit slow on this, and secondly, why the hell no one else has figured this out in the four months that he’s been sitting in this wheelchair.  He’s Nathan Scott; he doesn’t ask for help. But if you ask the right questions, you’ll find out what you need to know._

_“And Haley is working full time so she can’t take you,” she states with understanding._

_He nods._

_“So then with the drive and the sessions, it’s like a three and a half or four-hour commitment each time?”_

_He nods again. Peyton extends her right hand to him, making him frown in confusion. When he doesn’t lift his hand, she reaches for it, takes it and shakes it firmly._

_“Hi. I’m Peyton Sawyer and I’m your new rehab driver.”_

_“Sawyer. No,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”_

_“You’re not asking. I’m offering. And I need to tell you that I’m going to be_ so fucking offended _if you turn me down.”_

_“And yet … I’m still saying no.”_

_“Nathan, just say yes. I’m the only one around you that has no life. I have the time.”_

_“But … look I know Haley really wants me to get back up ... but this is ...”_

_He may be protesting still, but she can see it; the little flame of hope that’s igniting._

_“Do you remember that weird assignment back in Senior Year of high school ... with the questions and the photo?” she asks after studying him for a moment._

_“Yeah. What’s your point?”_

_“You remember what I told you?”_

_“That I was doing great,” he says with a half smile before he looks at the chair wheel at his side. “Not so much anymore.”_

_“I told you to remember to put yourself and your dreams first sometimes, Nathan. Don’t do this for Haley or for anyone else. Do this for_ you _. Let me help you do this for you. If you think you still have a shot at playing again, then so do I. Let’s do this.”_

_“I dunno. Maybe it’s a …”_

_“Geeze Nate. If you can get your Dad off your back and make it once, you can do this and make it again!”_

_She puts her hands flat on his thighs, and dips her head so that she can look up into his downcast eyes._

_“You know what, you doofus? Please. Just let me do this. It’ll make me happy to be useful, to help you and Haley out. Make up for me being such a sucky friend and not keeping in touch the last few years. And, just maybe, to make one of the three reasons that prompted my whole messed up return to Tree Hill, worth it after all.”_

_“Well, you know … if it’ll help_ you _out,” he grins._

_“Yeah. It’ll help me out,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. “C’mon, Hotshot. Make that phone call. Find out when we start with that crash hot rehab dude. And once you’ve started, you know I’m gonna be riding your ass to get the best result.”_

_He raises his eyebrow in that trademark Scott smirk. And she thinks it’s the first time she’s seen it in the couple of weeks she’s been back. It makes her smile._

_“Riding me, huh? I’m a married man, Sawyer, and you’ve had your designated share of love triangles with Scott boys.”_

_“So not funny,” she says drily. “And I’m not above slapping a cripple, just so you know.”_

_“You wouldn’t dare. We’re in public,” he scoffs._

_She quirks her shapely eyebrow at him and her hand flashes out to clip him around the ear._

_“Really? You should know by now, Scott. I have no shame. And using the dare word’s just red rag to a bull with me. Just for that you’re doing something for me on the way home.”_

_Nathan gives her another cheeky look. “_ Doing _you while you’re driving, Sawyer? You’re dangerous enough at the wheel without that sort of distraction.”_

_“Stop it already! You’re going with me to the barber. That heroin chic scraggly hair and beard works for Dave Grohl, but trust me, my friend, it ain’t working for you and I’m damn sure it ain’t working for Haley.”_

_“The barber?” he asks, completely taken by surprise._

_“Yup. The expensive one that does the hot towels and proper shave and everything. You’ll actually look like the Nathan Scott we know and love by the time they’re done with you.”_

_So, he makes the call and sets up his first rehab appointment for the very next day (it appears that Jono Newman is a big basketball fan) and he lets her drag (or wheel) him into the barber shop without complaining (much)._

_Late that night Peyton receives a call that she semi-sleepily answers without checking the caller ID. It’s Haley, thanking her (far too politely) for getting Nathan back to looking like her husband, and for volunteering to do the rehab driving. Peyton is a little confused by Haley’s formal tone but puts it down to the stress Haley’s been under, so simply says it’s no problem, that she’s happy to help them both out while she thinks about what she’s going to do workwise. She suggests that she and Haley catch up for lunch on the next free day when she, Peyton, isn’t going to be driving Nathan to Jacksonville, so probably the day after tomorrow. Haley says she’ll check her schedule and get back to Peyton soon. She doesn’t._

 

 

“Hey,” he says, as they’re nearing Fayetteville. “You gonna juggle the schedule to make it to Savannah?”  
“I dunno.”

“Sounded like a good lead,” he points out. “Four bars run by a muso.”  
“Maybe,” she says vaguely.  
“What’s the deal? I can’t really work out why you didn’t put Savannah on the list anyway.”

“It’s …”

“Complicated?”  
“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it always with you?” he jests.

“Hey!”

“So, what’s the deal?”

She sighs, twisting her loose hair around her hand and tugging.

“Sawyer?”

“Savannah’s where Jake is,” she admits reluctantly.

“And? I didn’t know you two were in touch. Did you fall out?”  
“We’re not in touch. Not really, just Christmas and birthday emails. And we didn’t fall out, as such. But …”

“What could be so bad that you’d avoid an entire city, and some real potential for your label, when you probably won’t see him anyway, just because there’s a tiny chance that you might? High school was a million years ago.”

She doesn’t reply and he’s almost going to drop it but something makes him push a bit more.

“When was the last time you saw him?” he asks in his ‘not taking no for an answer’ voice.

“High school.” He gestures for more detail and she screws up her nose but gives him what he’s after. “Right before your vow renewal.”

“And?” he says gently, hearing something in her tone.

And for the first time in years, she lets herself go back, and she tells Nathan the whole, sorry story. About thinking she was following her heart to Jake and Jenny, about proposing, about his refusal, about changing his mind with an impassioned plea, about an amazing night that then turned horribly wrong because she said four stupid, stupid words in her sleep. Words that she had scrunched down and kept so hidden, for Brooke’s sake, that she didn’t even know she still thought them or felt them. About returning to Tree Hill and sucking it up at the dramatic reenactments for Nathan and Haley’s second wedding, and telling Brooke, because she thought that honesty was the way to go, and the mess that unraveled. About losing not just Jake and Jenny, but Brooke (again) and Lucas (still).

“Wow,” he says awfully quietly at the end of her tale. “I … really don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing _to_ say,” she says. “I know it wasn’t meant to be with Jake and me, but it was still a pretty sucky time.”

“He was a really good guy, Jagielski.”  
“I’m sure he still is.”  
“Probably. Unless pining after Peyton Sawyer for years has made him delusional and bitter ... like ... say … oh! My brother!”

“Nathan!”

“Sorry. Jagielski? Can’t see him being like that, but …”

“But?” she prompts.  
“Honestly? I just can’t see you with him.”

“I was with him for months!”

“Yeah, in school. When you needed someone supportive and stable. I mean, I can’t see you with him for life, long term. You …”  
“Oh God, what relationship wisdom do you have now, Scott?”  
“You should be with someone with a bit more fire,” he shrugs.

“Fire?”

“Yeah … like … someone that can push back and tell you when to pull your head in. Someone strong. But who knows when to let you just … do your thing as well.”

“Jake was incredibly strong,” she counters.

“Do you ever wonder what could have been with him though?” he asks knowingly.  
“No,” she concedes.

“Then it happened as it should have, right?”

“I was joking on the relationship wisdom thing, you know.”

“I know. But I’m like … Yoda.”  
“Yeah.”  
“You agree?” he asks, a little surprised, but somewhat pleased.  
“No,” she shrugs, with a smug smile. “I can just see the physical similarities.”  
“Bitch.”

“You love me.”

“You can talk!”  
“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“You came back for me,” he says smugly.

“Ohmigod. Your ego is insane. I did _not_!”

“You told me.”

“ _Helping you and Haley out_ was one of several contributing factors,” she argues. “Don’t say I _came back for you_ ; that makes it sound … well it’s just … just wrong!”

  


**On the Way to Rehab, First Week**

_“Sawyer, can I ask you something?”  
“If you must,” she says, turning to glance at him briefly before returning her concentration to the road.” I reserve the right to plead the fifth though.”_

_“So … the other day, outside the hospital, when you offered to drive me?”_

_“Mmmm?”_

_“You said something about the three reasons you came back to Tree Hill?”_

_“I did?” she fakes innocence._

_“You did. You know you did.”_

_“Don’t recall,” she prevaricates._

_“Right. So, you can recall word for word conversations from years ago, like the one we had during that lame ass Senior Year assignment, but you can’t remember a pretty major talk from a few days ago?”_

_She sighs.  Dammit._

_“You really want to know?” she asks._

_“Yeah, I do. So ... obviously you came back for Lucas, right?”_

_“Oh God …”_

_“Hey. It’s me. You dumped my sorry ass because of him way back when …”_

_“I did_ not! _I dumped your sorry ass ‘cos it was a lying, cheating ass.”_

_“And ‘cos you wanted my bro’!”_

_“Yeah ... well ... bygones.”_

_“But you came back hoping …?”  
“Yeah. I think so. How sad am I?”_

_“So, why’d you say no when you had the chance?” he asks._

_“No?”_

_“When he proposed.”_

_“Um … I didn’t.”_

_“Then why aren’t you married with ten kids like we all thought you two would be?”_

_“I think it’s virtually impossible to have ten kids in that time period, Nathan,” she points out._

_“Not the point. He proposed. And you’re saying you didn’t say no, which, by the way, is not what he told all of us. So, what’s up?”_

_“What? He told everyone I said no? Just … no?”_

_“Yup.”_

_“Man,” she says shaking her head in frustration. “I should’ve known. Your brother really is a piece of work, sometimes.”_

_“What’s the deal then?”_

_“He … well, I felt like he ambushed me with it. I had no idea he was even coming to LA. I was exhausted after yet another crazy long work day. I was just so happy to see him. But dinner got wrecked ‘cos I got called back in to work. And it got really late and … I finally got to the hotel and he was asleep, with a ring box on the floor. And I waited for him to wake up and he just ... sprung it on me. God! Even before he said it, I was kind of saying please don’t do this right now. But he did. And I said I didn’t think we were ready, that we were still only 19. I said we each needed more time to chase our dreams, that I wasn’t ready to give up on LA, as shitty as it was.”_

_“And?”_

_“I think he said he’d move to LA but I couldn’t let him do that. He was doing so well with coaching, the championship, and everything. He got mad. Said we never saw each other, that we were drifting apart. He said I was saying no. And I told him I_ wasn’t _saying no. I told him straight out that I wanted to marry him but that I needed a year, just a year, to see if my music biz career could take off.”_

_“And he wouldn’t give you a year?”_

_“I ... I dunno, really. I’ve played that night over in my head so many times. Hundreds of times. I pleaded with him to wait a year. God,_ begged _for it, I think. And I was going to again the next morning. I was going to suggest we book some flights in advance and make more of an effort to actually see other over the next 12 months.”_

_“And why didn’t you? You do a typical Sawyer hit and run?”  
“I couldn’t, Nate,” she says reluctantly. “When I woke up the next morning he’d left.”_

_“Left? What do you mean?”_

_“Vamoosed. But he did leave the mix CD I made for him on the pillow,” she says with fake brightness. “Parting gift, I guess; returning one I gave to him.”_

_“He fucking just_ left you there _?” he asks incredulously. “And no … no calls … no … nothing after that?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“Shit, he really did a number on you,” he says, running his hand over his face. “And on all of us. He just said you said no.”_

_She drives for a few minutes while Nathan is wrapping his head around all of this._

_“So … I’m almost scared to ask now,” he says after a while, “but what were the other reasons for you coming back?”_

_“I was just done with LA and the cynical way the business runs there, and I knew I had to get out when I started buying into it.”_

_Nathan throws her a look that says he doesn’t believe that could happen. She’s Peyton Sawyer. She has greatness in her. And a thing called integrity. Those two bits of his brother’s book he really did agree with._

_“You know, it got to the point where I was told I could get into an important meeting if I dropped a button. And … I did it,” she says with a cringe. “That’s ... well that’s not me. My button decisions should be mine, not my boss’s.”_

_“And?”_

_“And what?”_

_“The third reason?”_

_“You know if this rehab thing doesn’t work out you could be like a wheelchair bound detective, like_ Ironside _.”_

_“Say who? What?”_

_“Old TV show; from the 70s, I think. My Dad used to watch reruns. The third reason? Well, the night when I decided to come back, Brooke and I were on the phone talking about it. And I still wasn’t there, still hadn’t decided to come home. I was thinking maybe another town, somewhere new. Maybe Nashville or Houston. Even with the Lucas thing, and the LA music scene thing, I was totally on the fence about Tree Hill.”_

_“What tipped you over?” he asks, genuinely curious._

_“Brooke got a call while she was talking to me and said she’d phone me back. I didn’t expect her to. Usually when that would happen she’d get tied up and it’d be weeks before we’d talk again. But she did call back, and that call that came in to her is what did it.”_

_“Who was it that called her?”_

_“It was your wife,” she says with a smile, remembering the conversation with Brooke, and how simple her decision had become in that moment._

_“Hales?”_

_“Got any other wives floating about?”_

_“Ha ha.”_

_“Yup. It was Haley; telling Brooke how worried she was about how you were being. I guess I wanted to maybe ... I dunno … do what I could? Be a better friend?”_

_“That’s amazing, Peyton,” he says warmly. “But I don’t think Hales realizes that. You should tell her you came back to support her.”_

_“Nate, I love Haley to bits, I do. But I meant_ for you _not for her. I wanted to be here for_ you _. Before we all went off to college and internships and stuff … we were good pals, you and me.”_

_“I don’t know what to say to that,” he mumbles._

_“Huh! Nathan Scott without a smartass reply?!”_

_“Sawyer!”_

_“Look. You’re a good guy, Scott. You’ve put a huge effort into being a good guy. You’ve earnt good friends. You were there for me a couple of times. And this is what good friends do. They step up.”_

_“Well. Thank you, Peyton. Thank you for being the one that stepped up.”_

_“You’re welcome, buddy. So … enough of the greeting card sentiment. My turn to choose music. This white boy rap of yours is terrible.”_

 

 

“Well,” Nathan smirks as he pulls off the highway into a gas station, “at least one of the Scott boys was _worth_ coming back for. And …”

She glares at him, opens the car door and gets out, slamming it hard and starting to walk away.

“Sawyer?”  
“I’m not speaking to you!”  
“Sure you are.”  
“What do you want to suggest now?” she bites out. “Maybe this road trip is just a grand scheme of mine to get you into bed?”

“Actually, you’ve been in my bed for the last …”  
“Don’t finish that sentence!” she warns.

“I was going to say,” he says, moving towards the pump that she’s stopped by, “… running on from my earlier wisdom about you needing someone strong … that I know it was some hard yards, and a lot of pain, but with the way he is now, I’m glad you walked away from Luke.”

“Um … he walked away from me. He married Lindsey, remember?”

“Yeah, but we all know that’s gonna turn to custard. _He_ is hiding and just trying to prove he’s right, when he’s so far from right it’s not funny. _You_ got wise, called time and walked away … metaphorically and _do not_ make a shitty comment about me using big words right now!  They are two very different things. The guy he used to be? Maybe. The guy he is now? Nowhere near strong enough for you. Nowhere near _good_ enough either.”

“Where’s this coming from?” she asks, hands on hips.  
He shrugs.

“Nate?”  
“Just … don’t sell yourself short. Next time, I mean. Alright?”

She looks up to meet his gaze, dragging her hand back through her hair and shaking her head a little.

“Alright?” he repeats.

She nods a little, then smiles that slow smile. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road trip continues and things heat up between Nathan and Peyton. Quickly. And repeatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the racy bits begin. I think the mature warning is OK; don't think it warrants explicit but let me know if you disagree.

**Day 8**

  1. _Off to Concord today. Then Monroe and on to Greenville, I think. Convertible’s are awesome. Music, so far, is not. Pxx_



“Hey,” he says suddenly, one afternoon while he’s driving, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything. But I’m the passenger, so I don’t have to answer unless I want to.”

“Why’d you believe me?”

“Ah ... gonna need a bit more, Nate …”

“About the housekeeper thing.”

“Carrie-gate?” she asks jauntily.

“Oh, my God. It had its own name?”

“No. Just messing with you. Too soon?”

“Nah. Bygones.”

“So, why’d I believe you? Well ... if you recall, I did kind of warn you about her. I had a feeling about her from the start.”

“You warned me?”

“That time I met her after a rehab trip.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees after searching his mind for a minute. “You did. What prompted that?”

“When I walked in that day, she was looking at some of Haley’s old photo albums and she realised that I was part of that group, then she realised I was your ex and she got really … weird. Like, looking daggers at me; quite … I dunno … I just got a really weird vibe from her. Like a Psycho Derek kind of vibe. Besides,” she chuckles, “it doesn’t matter what prompted it. You should always just listen to the Sawyer, Scott.”

“You know, just ‘cos you’ve got _the Keller_ babysitting the studio doesn’t mean you can start that ridiculous third person thing he does. But … I mean, the thing is … _no one_ else believed me. You were the only one. Haley, Lucas, Brooke; nada. Why did _you_ believe me? Why did you defend me so … staunchly?”

“Because I knew you were being honest when you said nothing was going on and I didn’t want to make the same … look, I just knew you weren’t lying.”

“You didn’t want to make the same what?” he asks, picking up on her slip.

“Nothing.”

“Sawyer. Tell me.”  
“I just knew,” she insists, but he can see her squirming a bit under his gaze.

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

“I’m the passenger,” she says defiantly. “Road Trip Rules mean I determine topic of conversation and this one’s over.”

“Fine.” And she thinks she’s off the hook until he grins and continues. “So, I’ll bring it up again when I’m the passenger. And I know you won’t be able to let me drive the whole trip to avoid be being passenger ‘cos it’s against your own Road Trip Rules, and even if it wasn’t I’d make you suffer with my music choices. So, give it up and spill. You didn’t want to make the same what?”

“You’re using my own Road Trip Rules against me?”

“Yup. Again. I like these rules.”

She sighs. “Okay.”

She exhales. Hard. Goes to speak then stops. Takes a few seconds then, clearly reluctantly, starts anew.

“The first time I accused you of cheating … on me. The _very_ first time. You … hadn’t, had you?”

“No,” he replies, after pausing and thinking back. “I hadn’t.”

“But I said I didn’t believe you,” she continues. “I was wrong. And … I knew I was wrong. And I didn’t want to do that again.”

“You _knew_ I didn’t? I don’t get this, Sawyer. You went all Peyton-Sawyer-Alpha-Bitch on me for cheating … but you didn’t actually think I did? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Do you remember anything about those couple of weeks?” she asks quietly.

“Around your birthday?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “My sixteenth.”

“Well … you were a mess because your Dad ...”

“Yeah,” she speaks to stop him saying it. He knows she does. “You and B. were amazing. But I was a mess. And I still think about that sometimes when I miss her, my Mom.”

“I’m not sure I see the connection.”

“I just … I was a wreck anyway, and you and me ... we’d been dating for like not far off a year ... and sleeping together for three months, and I wasn’t even sixteen when we started that …”

“Three quarters,” he says, smiling at her quickly before refocussing on the road.

“What?”  
“That was how you justified it. You said you were three quarters of the way between fifteen and sixteen, so you were really as good as sixteen.”

“Oh, my God. You remember that? What am I saying? Of course, you do … it got you laid!”

“Sawyer,” he protests gently, “it wasn’t just …”

“I know, Nate. I didn’t mean it like that. But I … guess I was getting kind of freaked out about us ... it felt really …”

“Big?”  
“If that’s not innuendo … then, yeah … big. And I was kind of scared … and yeah ... I think I really did know that you didn’t cheat, that first time, but I also think I was really scared that you’d become like your Dad.”

“Um. Dan’s a lot of things. A dick. A bully. A convicted murderer. But not a cheater. That was more my Mom when she was in her booze-swilling, pill-popping phase.”

“Mmm.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he observes after looking at her for a moment with a frown appearing across his forehead.

“Mmm.”

“We’ve been here before; I’ll just bring it up when I’m passenger.”

“You asked your Mom to have me over for dinner for my birthday ‘cos everything was shitty with my Dad,” she states.

“Yeah. I wanted you to have a nice family dinner. And it was, remember? Dan even made that sweet toast to you and what a ‘good influence’ you were on me, and how you supported my ambition. You’re still supporting my ambition,” he says warmly, with fond memories of that dinner, then he grins and adds cheekily. “You’re not such a good influence on _me_ anymore though.”

“Ha ha!”

She’s still holding back on the dinner thing, he realises.

“So? Peyton?”  
“Nathan,” she sighs, playing nervously with her hands, “the whole time he was giving that little speech, he had his hand on my thigh under the table and was trying to push my skirt up.”

He’s pulled the car off the road and onto the shoulder in an instant, spraying gravel, turning to her and yelling fiercely while thumping the steering wheel and glaring at her.

“What. The. Fuck. Peyton?”

“What!?” she cries out in self-defence. “It’s not my fault he did it!”  
“No. But it’s your fucking fault you didn’t tell me!” he yells back, fury sparking at her, and index finger jabbing the air between them.

He bursts out of the car, takes a few steps up the road, then comes back, grabs the car keys, throws her a murderous look and stalks off without another word.

It’s more than an hour and a half before she sees him again.

Peyton is standing outside the car, leaning on it and gazing out into the distance when he returns. She watches him grow from a dot in the distance until he stands next to her in her silence for what seems a very long time. Eventually she slides her hand sideways until her little finger is pressed against his. Still, they don’t speak. After another long wait, he exhales heavily, looks at her and shakes his head.

“You know,” she says, “just ‘cos we were sixteen then, doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to act sixteen now.” He just nods. He knows.

“Seriously?” she continues. “Leave me here for an hour and a half without music?”

“Crime against humanity,” he says drily.

“Well yeah!”

“Wouldn’t have put it past you to drive off without me if I hadn’t taken the keys,” he mutters.

“Would’ve been tempting. Very, very tempting.”

“I need to know,” he pleads.

“It was a long time ago, Nate.”

“I _need_ to know,” he insists.

“Fine. But can you take those precious keys and open the trunk and get the water out first? I’m freaking thirsty and we’ve used the remote to pop the trunk until now. I couldn’t find the damned trunk release.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, mad at himself, popping the trunk immediately and going to get her a bottle of water. “I’m sorry. It’s hot too. You okay?”

“I will be when I get a drink.”

He passes her the bottle. “Sips,” he instructs. “Don’t gulp too much down or it’ll hit your stomach and bounce.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Paternal is not something I feel about you, Sawyer. I ... I’m sorry.”

“For what? Being a jerk?”

“That too. For leaving. I shouldn’t have. But … why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

“What would you have done, Nathan?” she asks defiantly.

“I’d have fucking killed him!”

“Yeah, right. He had a height advantage, a weight advantage and he wouldn’t have thought twice about using them. Even on his son. He used them on the court with you _every day_. He’d have used them in a fight.”

“So, you didn’t say anything because you thought it would _protect_ me?”

“I don’t think I thought it through to that extent,” she admits. “I just knew no good would come of you trying to take him on. He was already busting your ass day in and day out.”

“Did he …” he takes a deep breath. “Did he do anything else … to you?”  
“He followed me into the bathroom and got a bit … handsy, I guess.”

“The same night or another time?”

“Same night. He never did it again. In the bathroom, I kneed him pretty hard. I told him I’d tell Deb if he ever did it again. And I would have.”

He ponders on that for a while.

“That’s why I felt I had to back you over the Carrie thing,” she says eventually. “I knew you weren’t lying. And I knew that first time you told me you didn’t cheat … but I didn’t defend you then. I dunno ... I let the gossip get to me and I took the easy way … or wasn’t strong enough to ... I don’t know, Nathan. I just had to do the right thing by you about Carrie because I _didn’t_ back then. And maybe that’s ...”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe that’s what triggered the next time. With me. When you _did_ cheat. At that party.”

He looks really baffled by that.

“Well … I kinda made you do the time even though you didn’t fool around that first time,” she explains. “Maybe you thought, on some level, that you may as well do the crime?”

“You cannot seriously have thought that all these years?”

“No. I guess it’s recently … while I’ve been thinking about past relationships and where they went wrong, you know ... after …”

“Lucas-gate?” he suggests with a raised eyebrow and a dry tone.  
“Huh! Funny! But yeah … trying to get my head sorted. Figure out what I want … seeing patterns …”

“Well. I don’t know about patterns. But I do know that the only reason why I messed around on you was because I was a Grade A ass.”

“Not for most of the first year we dated,” she denies. “You were kind of great for a long time.”

“The next year, though … Grade A ass. And I’m sorry that the few months of me being Nathan Scott, Grade A ass, coincided with when I was with you. You really deserved better.”

“Did you ever wonder why?”

“Why I was an ass? Pressure, I guess. Living up to having been the only Freshman on the varsity team. It was okay for that year, because being the only Freshman gave me a bit of leeway, but Sophomore year the excuse was gone. Plus, Dan, my Mom being so … absent. But there’s no excuses really. I knew it was wrong.”

“But then Haley came along and sorted you out.”

“Maybe,” he says with a tilt to his head.  
“What do you mean _maybe_? She did. She made you want to change, to be better.”

“Not quite.”

“That’s what everyone said and I’ve heard _you_ say it too.”

“Yeah. But it’s not the whole story.”

“Tell me more, Scott. I’m intrigued now.”

“Hales gave me … the _environment_ , I guess. But me _wanting_ to change? That was already there.”

“I don’t …”

“Because I lost you over it,” he supplies before she can even finish. “That last break up … I knew I’d really fucked it up then. Do you remember me coming and telling you I missed you?”

“Yeah, I do. You’d never done that before.”

“And I knew then that I’d really blown it. I knew it before but that day, then, and after the father son game that night … I could actually see how much I _hurt_ you. I … I just got it, for the first time ever, I guess, and I didn’t want to do that again, not to anyone, really. So ... I knew it had to be different, the way I was being; I knew it before Haley.”

“That kind of explains how you’ve not derailed since the divorce,” she thinks aloud. “All that growth, and insight, and perception; it was all there anyway.”

“It was still pretty tempting to derail for a while,” he admits. “But this crazy girl I know kept me going.”

“You really need to stop calling me _this crazy girl you know_. And _we_ really need to hit the road.”

He’s still driving, and of course that means he’s still picking the music but when he cranks up the Beastie Boys, she can’t help but protest.

“Seriously? Beastie Boys? You’re really still that sixteen-year-old boy, aren’t you?”

“I know you love it really,” he shrugs her off.

“Ah … no …”

“Go on. Admit it. I’m _your_ beastie boy … no ... I’m your _Bestie_ Boy!”

“Maybe,” she chuckles. “But I am _totally_ your Bestie Girl.”

A while later he looks sideways at her.

“So … after all that … revelatory stuff ... anything else you want to get off your chest?” he asks. “Now’s your chance, Sawyer. Amnesty on all your deep, dark secrets.”

The track rolls into _She’s On It_ and when Peyton, despite her earlier protestations, leans forward to crank it up louder, he can’t help but get a good long look down her shirt front.

“Nope,” she replies, sitting back, “me and my chest are just fine.”

 _Oh, yes you are_ , he thinks, then mentally slaps himself.

 

 

Later that afternoon, when he returns, hot and sweaty, to their hotel room from another few hours of hard physical work on the local basketball court, she’s totally engrossed in her work. She glances up.

“I went to the store,” she tells him, “got your favourite Gatorade. It’s in the fridge, with some beers.”

“You really are my Bestie Girl,” he grins in appreciation.

“Make the most of the beers. Once you’re into the season it’ll be tee totalling, won’t it?”  
“Just about.”

He flops on the couch with the Gatorade and one of the beers, flicking on a sports channel.

She stands and walks towards the kitchenette, taking him completely unawares with a hard cuff around his ear as she walks past.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“That was for not getting _me_ a beer _and_ for the nice long pervy look down my top in the car earlier today.”

“Oh. You got that?” he asks a little sheepishly.  
“Seriously? You’re not especially subtle.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” he shrugs as drains the Gatorade bootle.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” she asks as she’s taking the top off a beer for herself.

He smirks at her. “It was a _nice_ look.”

She shakes her head, walking back behind the couch and, as she goes past him, cuffs him around the other ear.

“Nathan Scott! You are …”

“What? A. A perv? Already established in this instance but not conceding on any others. B. A jackass? On occasion, absolutely. Or C. Such a handsome devil that you’re just a little bit flattered by that long pervy look?”

“You’re impossible,” she scoffs. “I’m going to have a shower before we go find some dinner.”

 “Or D?” he calls out as she’s disappearing down the hallway.  
“What the hell’s D?”  
“C’mon, _crazy girl,_ D is always the same: D is all of the above.”

She slams the door into the bathroom, but not before he hears her laughing.

 

 

**Day 10**

_Dearest darlingest Brooke. This Summer is awesome, huh? Heading to Greenville today. Yeah, yeah. Will text again when safely in. Pxxx_

 

He comes in late from another pickup game, literally dripping sweat but looking like he’s conquered the world. She looks up from her laptop and wrinkles her nose.

“You look gross,” she utters as she drags her hand through her hair in what looks like frustration then returns her attention to her screen.

“This is what hard work looks like, Sawyer,” he replies, gesturing to himself. “I am _back_. Totally back. I’m kicking ass out there; killing it.”

“Well, I’m pleased. Really. But talk to me after you’ve had a shower. You look disgusting.”

“And _you_ look like you need a good night out. _I’ve_ got _my_ mojo back, girl, we’re going out tonight and working on yours.”

“My mojo is fine, thank you very much, despite a double booking at the studio that Chris is struggling to resolve. And trust me, _I’m_ kicking ass too. I have got another three bands that want me to check them out next week when we hit Savannah. One of them sounds phenomenal. I can’t believe they’re unsigned.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’ve finally decided we will hit Savannah? And … not _that_ mojo,” he replies as he pulls a Gatorade out of the fridge. “ _I’m_ taking you out to a bar and _you’re_ going to work on how to pick up boys.”

“What!? You’re insane.”

“Nope. You need to get back out there.”

“Coming from!”

“The difference is I know I can, I’m choosing not to right now. You, on the other hand, have lost your strut. And we’re getting it back for you.”

“Nathan … or maybe I should call you Brooke? I don’t …”

“Nope. No arguments. Shower for me. Getting changed for you. Dinner. Bar.”  
“There’s a fatal flaw in your plan, you know.”  
“And what might that be?”

“You. No one’s gonna try and pick me up with you hanging around being all protective and Super-Scott, and don’t tell me you won’t do it, because you will.”

He concedes on that point but insists they are still going, and that he’ll just sit at the other end of the bar as back up. When she argues that he can’t be drinking that much when he’s in hard core training, he says he’ll have one beer then sit on soda water or tonic. He’s not taking any arguments, and she’d damn well better be almost ready when he gets out of the shower, because he’s seriously hungry.

When he emerges from the bathroom, wearing dark jeans and a nicely tailored black shirt, he fully expects her to still be at her laptop, just to be a pain in the ass and make him argue with her. But she’s changed out of her shorts and tank top, and she’s done her makeup and pulled her hair up into a sort of bun with cute little wispy bits hanging down, and a funky clip holding it all together. And she’s wearing a dress.

He thinks the last time he saw her in a dress was … well, actually he can’t remember. Even at the wedding she was wearing trousers; classy, silky trousers with a silver top that fitted then flared out, and matching strappy silver sandals with killer heels. But a dress? It looks like it wraps around and ties in the front but that’s just for effect, because when she stands up and goes to grab her shoes, he sees it’s got a long zipper that runs from the neck right down to the small of her back. The fabric has an interesting swirly pattern on it, and he can tell looking at it that it’s going to swing around her legs.

“You’re ready,” he says, somewhat dumbfounded.

“It didn’t sound like there was any other option. Besides, I’m starving too. Let’s go, killer.”

They head out and decide to just walk and chat about their respective afternoons, and see what they find in terms of food. They’re heading into a little place that looks pretty cool and already has enough people inside to suggest the food’s good, when he suddenly stops.

“What?” she asks.

“I didn’t tell you, but you look incredible.”

He then ushers her in as if he just said something as inane as that the sky is blue, and pulls a seat out for her at a little table near the window where a decent breeze is coming in. She raises her eyebrow at the chivalrous behaviour.

“Why thank you, kind sir. You look rather dashing yourself.”

“Hmm,” he muses, a thought crossing his mind. “Last time I told you that you looked incredible, you told me I looked _spiffy_.”  
“What? Spiffy!? When?”  
“Brooke’s store opening.”  
“Oh, yeah,” she grins. “Spiffy. That was a fun night … well ... it was until you left.”

She pulls a wry face and he knows there’s another story to hear.  
“Why? What happened after that?”  
“Let’s just say I tried to stay away from your brother as you suggested, but he didn’t exactly follow the plan.”  
“Dick,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And I seem to remember I also told you to go get the barman. What happened there?”  
“Yeah. That was the problem.”

****

****

**_Tree Hill Clothes Over Bros Store Opening, Right Before Thanksgiving_ **

_When Nathan and Peyton arrive at Brooke’s store opening, they’re taken aback by the press contingent outside, and the number of people arriving in limos. There’s even a short red carpet from the sidewalk up the stairs to the front door._

_“Wow,” Peyton muses, “I think even in a B. Davis original, I’m a bit underdressed.”_

_She smooths down the skirt of her metallic olive-green dress, and fidgets with the bodice. The neck line is interesting, plunging between her breasts, but not actually revealing much thanks to some very clever boning. Still, it’s not the sort of thing she usually wears. Brooke created it for her. God knows when she had time in the last few weeks. And, credit where it’s due (that is to Ms B. Davis), it really does fit like a custom-made dress should._

_“Hey,” Nathan says to her. “Just so you know, you look incredible. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”_

_She knows exactly who he means by_ anyone _, too. “Aw. Thanks buddy. You look pretty spiffy yourself.”_

_He grins, goes to speaks, stops himself then gives her an odd look._

_“What?”_

_He shakes his head, smiling._

_“I was just going to do a jokey ‘you know, Sawyer, if I was single…’ then I realized … I kind of am. And soon I really will be.”_

_She puts her arm around his waist and hugs him sideways, resting her head against his upper arm for a moment._

_“I haven’t lost hope that she’ll come around,” she says._

_“I have. I think I knew from the start.”_

_“So … single, huh? Feel weird?”_

_“It can feel weird tomorrow,” he declares. “Not now. Tonight, my date’s the hottest girl in town.”_

_“Wow! Really? That’s such a coincidence!” She says in an excited tone, “’Cos my date’s the studliest guy!”_

_They look at each other, each raise an eyebrow, then, as Nathan reaches over and around her and opens the door, allowing her to precede him in, they both burst into raucous laughter, loud enough that much of the room stops and looks at the latest arrivals._

_“God, that’d be funny,” Nathan drawls near her ear._

_“Oh, my God. Can you even_ imagine _that gossip?” she giggles._

_It’s a great night for Brooke, and Peyton deals with the presence of Lucas by ignoring him. At least, with Lindsey, Ice Fiancée, in New York, Peyton doesn’t need to worry about snide remarks and sideways looks from that quarter, though she gets the odd one from Haley, who is studiously avoiding her soon to be ex-husband but can’t keep from throwing suspicious looks at the girl he arrived with._

_Nathan sidles up to Peyton after a couple of hours, and tells her he’s going to head home if she doesn’t mind. Though he’s off the crutches much of the time, a whole evening of standing is hard work for him. She walks him to the door and thanks him for being her ‘studly date’._

_“Anytime, Sawyer. And by the way,” he murmurs right next to her ear, “the barman’s been checking you out all night.”_

_She turns to look and grins. “He’s pretty cute. Was he really?”_

_“Totally. Go get ‘im, tiger,” he chuckles. “And also by the way,” he adds, pointing a finger at her as he issues his next instruction, “stay away from my dumbass of a brother.”_

_She laughs and pushes him out the door, telling him there’s a cab with his name on it just outside. As the door closes behind Nathan, she decides she_ will _go and chat to the barman. He_ is _good looking, and he seemed a nice guy when he poured her a wine an hour or so ago._

_She’s waylaid by Brooke on the way, but that just gives her time to finish her glass of wine, so she’s actually got a reason to go and, with Brooke egging her on, chat to the barman, whose name, it transpires, is Craig. He’s Scottish and has been in the States for a couple of years but still has an accent that Peyton decides is really quite musical. So, she stands by the bar for quite some time, chatting and laughing and generally enjoying hearing his lovely voice._

_Just as she’s ramping up her flirting a level, and brushing her fingertips lightly over Craig’s hand, another hand lands heavily on her shoulder. She turns to see Lucas standing there, with a skeptical look in his eye and an awkward twist to his mouth. He looks like he’s been sucking on lemons, she thinks._

_“Lucas,” she says evenly. “Have you met Craig? He’s Scottish.”_

_The elder of the Scott brothers takes her elbow and pulls her away from the bar._

_“Cheating on the cheater, huh?” he says almost coldly._

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_“You know; I get that you would take up with Nathan. It’s so convenient, isn’t it? Indulging your predilection for Scott …”_

_“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lucas,” she fires at him. “Nathan and I are_ friends _.”_

_“Yeah. Right.”_

_“You know what? I don’t owe you an explanation for_ anything _, least of all being friends with your brother.”_

 _“You can’t expect me to believe that’s all you two are.  Nathan doesn’t do_ friends _with women.”_

 _“Frankly, I don’t care what you believe. And if you think that, you don’t know him at all. He was my friend back in high school and he’s been nothing but good to me since I got back. He’s been an amazing friend to Brooke, and to me.”  
“With benefits, no doubt,” Lucas scoffs snidely. “I guess he deserves to have you take up with a _bartender _behind his back the minute he leaves, given what he did to Hales.”_

_“He didn’t do it.”_

_“You can’t possibly believe that.”_

_“Actually, I believe that with every fibre of my being; he_ didn’t _do it.”_

_“Then what you’re doing to him is even worse.”_

_“For the love of God, Lucas, Nathan and I are_ not _together. In fact,_ he _told me I should chat up the bartender. Brooke told me I should chat up the bartender. The only person in this room that has a problem with me chatting up the bartender – and by the way what right do you have to sound condescending about someone earning an honest living as a bartender? -  is_ you _. And considering that you have a_ fiancée _, Lucas, that’s just a little bit inappropriate, don’t you think?”_

_She spins on her heel and goes to leave him, but he grabs her wrist and hauls her back, speaking near her ear in a tone that is a mix of threat, regret and possessiveness. She doesn’t like it one little bit._

_“You know what, Peyton? Even given everything, the funny thing is, that bartender?” He pauses, looks intensely at her. “He’s not good enough for you.”_

_And he turns and walks out the door. She pauses for a moment, incredulous that he thinks he has the right so say such a thing, then flies after him._

_“Hey!”_

_He turns back to see her standing in the open doorway, a fraught but defiant look on her face._

_“Don’t say those things to me, Lucas! It’s not fair to Lindsey. And it’s not fair to me.”_

_He throws his hands up in a gesture of dismissal and turns on his heel. It’s not ‘til he’s halfway down the street that he thinks of Jono. Exactly how many guys_ are _after Peyton? And exactly how many of them is she considering? And why is this bothering him so much? He’s got Lindsey. He’s engaged to Lindsey. She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She’s supportive. Sure, she’s been a little edgy since Brooke and Peyton came back to town, but that’s understandable, right? Dammit. This whole thing is just a mess. Why’d_ she _have to come back?_

 

 

Across the table from her, Nathan can’t really do anything more than chuckle as she relates how that night went after he’d gone home, and be glad that she’s able to tell the tale with a few laughs herself.

“Anyway,” he says when she’s finished, “dresses seem to work for you. If it hadn’t been for Luc- _ass_ it sounds like you would’ve gone home with a different kind of _Scot_. And you’re wearing a dress tonight and you look great; all ready to rev up that Sawyer mojo.” At which she rolls her eyes and laughs.

“No, Sawyer. Don’t laugh it off. You look hot. But still classy.”

She holds her hands up in a ‘giving in now’ gesture. “Okay. Thanks. Moving on, can we order now?”

“You’re still really crap at accepting compliments, you know.”  
She shrugs. “The acid test for the dress will be when we hit the bar, right? And I’ll have you know I am not thrilled about this whole testing the _Sawyer mojo_ thing.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve _never_ been someone who picks up guys in bars!”

“Well how _do_ you meet your guys then?”

“Oh well … let me think. School. School. Tric. School. Photocopy room slash sidewalk outside book store. And by the way, Tric was Pete from Fall Out Boy so it was a _semi-unprofessional almost crossing the line with an act_ thing, not a sleazy bar pickup thing!”

A waitress approaches, they order quickly and when she looks back to her dinner companion after the waitress leaves their table, he’s sitting back in his seat with his arms crossed, watching her.

“Oh geeze,” she says, “I know that look. I’m about to be grilled about something.”

“School. Me. School. Jake. Tric. Pete. School. Luke. You are seriously telling me that since my dickhead brother botched that whole shitty proposal, there’s been only one guy? In what? Four years?”

“Why is that so hard to believe? I’m not a …”

 _She_ won’t say it. But _he_ will.

“A slut. I know. I wasn’t suggesting that. I just ... c’mon … you’re this gorgeous, smart, funny, great girl and you were in LA, for goodness sake. Plenty of guys to choose from; I just thought you’d have dated a lot … or at least a bit.”

“Well, there was Julian,” she concedes.

“The ... what was it … photocopy room slash sidewalk guy? Tell me about him.”

And so, she does. She tells Nathan the whole saga, from the pithy ‘open it up to see what went wrong’ comment in the copy room the very next day after that ‘whole shitty proposal’, to literally bumping into him outside the signing at the book store a year later and being dragged to a fundraiser even though she was ‘the saddest girl in the world’, and being pulled out of the sadness into something that was fun, and good, and grown up, and yes very sexy, and she thought pretty healthy, until her stupid obsession with that even more stupid book cost her what had been maybe not quite her longest, ‘cos she had dated a certain _Hotshot Scott_ for longer than that after all, but certainly her most stable and permanent relationship.

“So,” he says, when she’s finished. “That ended, what, a year and a half ago?”

“Give or take. And don’t you dare ask me if I’ve had sex since then, Nathan Scott! You asked me that at the wedding and that was kind of weird.”

“I wasn’t going to!” he declares, then grins. “Besides, I already know the answer to that question, so I don’t have to ask. I was going to ask you, with the benefit of time, do you believe that Julian was a good guy, maybe the _right_ guy, that you let slip away and now regret that? Or was he _not_ the right guy because if he _had_ been the right guy, he would have stuck around and given you more time to work out the gremlins in your head?”

“When did you become a psychoanalyst?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Umm.  Maybe a bit of both? I think he was _almost_ the right guy. I do regret how it ended, because he was a _great_ guy. He was good to me and he loved me and I loved him, and it was a shitty way for it to end. He didn’t deserve to feel like I was never properly in it, because I _was_. But I also think if he was _absolutely_ the right guy, he would have been able to give me that time. And _wow_ , another guy that couldn’t give me time. That just hit me. Umm … so did that answer your question? Did that make any sense?”

“It really did. I think you just nailed it on the head for how I feel about Haley too. Substitute all those ‘hes’ with ‘shes’ and substitute ‘give me time’ with ‘believe in me’ or at least ‘give me the benefit of the doubt’ and ... that’s my marriage. _Was_ my marriage.”

 

 

The bar is decidedly upmarket and fairly busy. Busy enough that she at least doesn’t feel overly conspicuous being a woman ‘alone’ at the bar. They’d approached the bar together. Nathan had ordered himself a tonic and lime and her a beer. She’d raised an eyebrow at that. He’d laughed.

“You won’t get drunk on beer, Sawyer. And girls that drink beer in a ritzy bar are real.”  
“Real?”  
“Trust me,” he says with a wink. “It sends the right message.”

He takes his tonic off to the other end of the bar and perches himself there, immediately engrossed in his phone, but sending her the odd reassuring look, at which she generally shakes her head in amusement or rolls her eyes. She has a brief chat to one of the barmen, another with a girl who admires her dress while waiting for her own drinks to be made, another with a far too clean cut looking guy who quickly loses interest in her when she clearly isn’t interested in pandering to his ego, and rejects his offer of a drink by wordlessly waving her three quarters full bottle in front of him.

She’s watching a three-piece band set up efficiently and wondering if maybe this might turn into an unexpected scouting mission, when someone lurches into her from behind. She grabs the bar for support and turns.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, before perking up. “Oh. You have pretty eyes.” He’s half drunk. More. But harmless enough, she can see. Something in his doleful eyes and slumped shoulders speaks to her and she smiles and assures him it’s no problem.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks in a rush, responding to her pleasantness.

“Um, there’s no music yet,” she says with a chuckle.

“Oh. What if I hum?” he asks as if it’s the best idea ever.

“Hmmm,” she teases gently. “What would you hum?”  
“Whatever will make you say yes?” he grins.

“That’s sweet,” she begins carefully.

“Oh. Kiss of death, right there,” he concedes.

“What?”

“Being _sweet_.”

“I’m not following.”

“Bex said I’m sweet,” he explains sadly.  
“Bex?”  
“Girlfriend. Oh … ex-girlfriend, I suppose.”

“Oh dear. I detect this might be recent?”

“Very.”

“Break ups are hard,” she nods, her tone becoming rather maternal.

“She said I was sweet and perfect husband material …”

“And _now_ I detect a but?”  
“But not _her_ husband.”  
“You …?”  
“Proposed? Yes.”

“And she didn’t ...?”  
“Say yes? Yes. No. Um … no, she didn’t say yes. Or yes, she didn’t say yes. She didn’t say yes.”

“I’m sorry.”  
“You’re very nice.  I bet if your boyfriend of nearly two years proposed, you’d say yes.”

“Oh … um …”  
“You wouldn’t?”  
“Well, I don’t have …”  
“Have you ever been proposed to?”

“Um …”  
“I’m sorry. That’s very rude of me.”

“No. It’s okay. The thing is; I have been.”

“You said no?”  
“I …” she looks at him and his agony just creeps into her heart so much that she finds herself telling him. A stranger. “I needed time and he couldn’t accept that and see the thing is, he got his happy ever after with another girl who didn’t; need time, I mean. So … you will too, I’m sure. One day.”

“Time, huh?”

“Yeah. It takes time, but …”

“You’re _very_ nice. I think maybe he was an idiot.”

“Who? Oh … the …”  
“The proposer who wouldn’t wait. I’d wait forever for Bex if I had to, if there was any point, I mean.”

“Well …”

“C’mon man, time to stop harassing this poor woman,” comes a deepish voice from behind her new, drunken, acquaintance.

“Robbo!” the acquaintance exclaims, embracing the tall, ruggedly handsome newcomer.

“Will,” the newcomer states with an indulgent smile.

“Robbo!  This is … oh … I didn’t ask you your name.”  
“Peyton.”  
“That’s pretty! Like your eyes. It suits you. Robbo, this is Peyton. Peyton, this is Rob, who won’t be my brother-in-law after all, but is a very fine best mate indeed.”

Rob turns his ‘best mate’ around, hands on his shoulders and eases him away from the bar with an apologetic smile to her. She returns it and shrugs, watches them head towards the door then turns to find Nathan watching. She shrugs again and sends him a _whatever_ sort of shrug and smile. He raises his glass a little and winks, then gestures to the barman and sends another beer down to her.  Just as she’s taking her first sip, someone takes the spot next to her.

“Sorry about Will.”  
She turns and shakes her head that it’s fine.

“Rob,” he says, extending a hand, which she takes and shakes, after swapping her beer bottle to her other hand.

“Oh sorry,” she laughs, as she realises her hand’s cold and damp from the cold bottle. He laughs too, and takes the napkin she passes him, wiping his palm.

“Peyton, right?”

“Yeah. So … Will?”

“Put him in a cab with enough cash to get him home and a decent tip to compensate for him crying on the driver’s shoulder.”

“He seems like …”  
“I hope you’re going to say a decent guy,” he interrupts sounding just a tiny bit defensive. “‘Cos he is; he’s a _really_ decent guy.”

“He’ll be okay?”  
“He will.”

“He said brother-in-law?”

“My sister, Rebecca. She’s … a sweetheart, really. But a long, long way from being ready for … sorry. I think you got enough of the whole …”  
“It’s okay. I get it.”

He studies her then nods.

“Yeah, I reckon you do. So … what do you do, Peyton? You’re not from here. What brings you to a ritzy bar in Greenville? Where are you from?”

Something about him saying ritzy, the way Nathan had, appeals to her and she finds herself relaxing in his company.

“Um … I own a tiny indie record label,” she explains. “I’m on the road scouting.”

“Nice. And you’re from?”  
“Oh … a tiny little place in NC. You won’t know it.”

“Try me.”

“It’s _really_ tiny …”

“I grew up in Wilmington,” he tells her. “Still based there.”

“Oh! Wow! That’s close. Tree Hill,” she says, her hand across her chest in surprise.

“That _is_ tiny! Pretty town, though.”

“Well, I like it, for all its many faults.  And what does Rob from Wilmington do?”

“Boring lawyer,” he demures.

“No, really ... don’t oversell it!” she teases, making him laugh. He summons a nearby barman and gestures to her beer with a raised eyebrow, but she shakes her head.

They chat. It’s nice … easy. He’s open, warm, witty. He handles mainly small and medium sized businesses. He’s not especially passionate about law per se, though he says, factually and without boasting, that he’s good at it. But he is passionate about the people he meets and helps to avoid big mistakes, or to get out of hot water. He’s good at what he does, and finds it satisfying if not thrilling, he sums up. He has enough clients to be able to pick and choose now; he doesn’t take on any new people unless he likes them.  She teases him that he must be independently wealthy to be able to take that approach. He shrugs and says _“yeah, but what can you do? Family money helped get me on my feet. I paid it back. I don’t use it now.”_ She says it’s not so different to her friends helping her set up her label, and that paying them back with interest was one of the most satisfying experiences of her life.

“Yeah?” he asks after a long swallow on his beer. “Good friends? Must be to have set you up.”  
“The best. Brooke’s amazing and …”

“Brooke? Tree Hill? You have to mean Brooke Davis?”

“Oh God. Don’t tell me you’re an … um … ex,” she finally settles on, not wanting to use fling or one-nighter, or …

He laughs, completely on to her. “No. But my sister - the youngest one, not Rebecca the commitment-phobe - is a _huge_ fan. Always going on about her fashion heroine, Brooke Davis. She has a monthly expedition to Tree Hill to go to Clothes By ... what is it?”

“Clothes Over Bros.”

“Yeah. That,” he confirms, pointing towards her with his beer bottle and nodding.

“Well, Brooke is amazing and very generous with her time. Your sister who isn’t Rebecca should actually talk to her if she’s into fashion.”

“I’ll tell her. She’ll squeal.”

“Well … Brooke would squeal right back if she heard her! You’re … a very good big brother, I think.”

“I try. You have any?”  
“I do. A half-brother. Older.”

“Half? You grow up together or not?”  
“Actually, we met when I was seventeen.”  
“Sounds like a story and a half.”  
“Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

They chat more. Oddly, she finds herself telling him, not her whole life story, but bits of it.  He has a few tales of his own. She laughs a lot. It feels good. Easy. She almost wishes she felt that … friction. And she should.  He’s certainly attractive.  Around six foot. Nicely built; lean muscle. Long legs and, when he briefly turns to look at a commotion on the other side of the room, a _very_ nice ass. Brown eyes. Brown, slightly reddish hair. Nice hands. But she just can’t imagine those hands on her.  That’s kind of a deal-breaker for her.

His phone buzzes at one point and he checks it quickly, frowning.

“You need to go?” she asks.  
“Hmmm. I think I do.”

“Your friend? Will?”  
“Actually, a client.”

He drains his glass and pockets his phone.

“This is going to sound odd,” he begins.

“Over sell again?” she quips.

“I’d really like to keep in touch. I would say I’d really like to _see_ you again, but my sense is that you’re not looking for that. But that you might be open to a new friend?”

“You’re very astute,” she nods.

He takes a card from his wallet, crosses off the _Attorney_ and scribbles on it, then hands it to her.

“’Potential friend and EPO’?” she reads from the card, puzzled, as she deciphers his scrawl.

“Emergency Plus One,” he explains with a cheeky smile. She frowns again, not comprehending his explanation.

“You know? You get the invite to that thing you really must go to for appearance’s sake or … whatever reason. And you should take a presentable partner; a _Plus One_. But you’re … between gigs right now, and everyone you can think of to ask that will be available is available for a _very good_ reason, or they’re boring as hell, or they’ll mistake the invitation for … interest, when it really isn’t.”

“Right!” she laughs.

“Or,” he says, leaning in a little, “you just want to take someone to a thing to prove a point.”

“A point?”

“Send a message?”

“Message?”

“That you’re … fine.  Moving …”

“On,” she completes. “Okay, _who_ are you? _When_ did you read my diary? And where the hell were you a couple of weeks back?”

“You really don’t seem like a diary kind of girl.”

“True.”

“So … that’s me,” he says, tapping the card. “ _Potential friend and EPO_. I’ll leave it with you. And I’m not going to ask for yours.”  
“Good. I don’t have one.”

“Rebel, huh? You’re good people, Peyton.”  
“You too, Rob.”

“And hey,” he says as he leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “Maybe an intro to Brooke Davis might come my way.”  
“For your sister? Sure!” she quips, all innocence and ignoring his semi-pleading eyes.

“Nice,” he laughs. “Make me feel about thirteen.”

She throws him a grin and a little wave as he goes.  She looks up to see dark blue eyes from the other end of the bar. She expects a wink. She doesn’t get one. He watches for a few long seconds, then nods once, and cocks his head towards the door with a questioning look. Time to leave? She nods and drains her beer.

“Score,” Nathan says in her ear as he joins her, his hand resting briefly at her hip.

“Potential friend,” she corrects him.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs, laughing so much he snorts.

She shrugs off his mockery and turns to lead the way to the door, but slips a little as she does so and falls against his chest.

“Tipsy?” he chuckles, steadying her.

“Three beers! So, no!”

“Just the pheromones then?”  
She laughs and walks her fingertips teasingly up his arm.

“Yeah. ‘Cos you affect me that way,” she teases, with a quirked eyebrow.

“I meant that _guy_!” he protests to her back as she walks away, her hips swinging jauntily.

As they approach the door on the way out, it flies open towards them and a large group files in. She’s nearly hit by the door, but Nathan’s arm is around her and hauling her back against him just in time. She’s tipped forward and, slightly off balance, grabs the arm that’s wrapped around her to steady herself. She finds her breath has caught and her heart races. Damn door.

“You okay?” he asks, close to her ear.

“Yeah. Nice save. Thank you.”

“Just looking out for you and your mojo,” he laughs.

She moves out of his hold and goes to exit then dammit, exactly the same thing happens again and this time she finds herself wrapped up in the smell of his aftershave, and the feel of his bicep through that black shirt that makes his eyes look bluer, and his dark hair look darker and … she shakes her head to clear those thoughts. One drink too many, she thinks. But after three beers? She usually has a little more stamina than that.

It’s a very nice evening out and they decide to walk back. It’s far, but not too far, and she’s thinking a walk to sober her up a bit would be a _sterling_ idea.

“So,” he says after a while, “how’s that mojo feeling?”

“I think it’s probably really different when you don’t have your own personal security detail at the other end of the bar,” she laughs. “I’d never just talk to a random guy in a bar.”

“Okay. Fine. But you had a laugh and a conversation and struck up a bit of a rapport with a decent guy. Isn’t that good?”

“I guess,” she concedes. “But it’s _pointless_ , Nate!”

“Why?”

“Because I am _way_ too busy to do this on a regular basis. By the time you think about how many times I’d have to _go_ out, and how many times I’d _strike_ out, and how many times I’d want to see someone before I actually was prepared to let them see me _naked_ ... it’s just not worth the hassle.”

“Well, you’re never gonna break the drought with that attitude, Sawyer.”

“Why are you even talking about this? _My_ drought. _My_ problem. Or not. Maybe I’m perfectly happy with my drought.”

“Yeah, right.”  
“What does that mean?”

“It means you forget that I know how much you like sex.”

“Times like this; I really wish you’d forget all that stuff you know about me,” she grumbles.

“Ah c’mon, you know I just want you to be happy.”

“I know. Right back at ya.”

“You know what you need?” he says with a sly smile.  
“Oh, I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”  
“Friends with benefits.”

“So high school!” she says, jabbing his arm with her finger.  
“No, like a grown-up version. It could work. Someone you trust and could be straight up with. You’re right about that whole time-consuming thing. We’re all just so busy all the time. Just … a buddy … like a physical buddy and you ... ah … take care of each other.” He pauses and smirks a bit at that. “Grown up genuine no strings attached fun.”

“ _Take care of each other_?” she repeats aghast.

“Physically. I guess, maybe emotionally too. You know, if it was really grown up and open and honest it could work. You could be … like … supportive and encouraging of each other while you … took care of each other’s … um … _needs_ ,” he emphasises with a raising of his eyebrow and a suggestive smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, my God. You’re a genius!”

“I am? I thought it was a bit out there, myself.”

“Absolutely! Skills …”

“Genius _and_ skilled?” he laughs. “You should be President of the Nathan Scott fan club.”

“Not skilled. _Skills_. Skills Taylor. He’d be perfect to be my no strings buddy … and, so I’ve heard, _very_ accomplished in that department. And you keep telling me he … _appreciates_ me.”

Nathan pulls a face at her.

“What’s that face in aid of?”

“I’m a little afraid to ask but you’ve heard about his … _skills_ , how exactly?”

“You know. High school. Bevin. Boys aren’t the only ones who talk, you know.”

“Oh, thank God for that.” And he does, actually, look relieved.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer but she’s rather curious now, so she repeats it.

“Scott!? What’s up?”

“Oh God. I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but Skills … he was dating my Mom. Maybe still is … I told them I didn’t want to hear about it so I’m not sure.”

“Oh, wow! That’s kind of ew-inducing.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Or maybe Skills could! _Tell you about it_ , I mean.”

“Oh, now that’s really _ew_ , Sawyer! Do you _mind_?”

“So … no skilled Skills for me?”

“Guess not, Sawyer. You’ll have to come up with a Plan B. Fergie, maybe?”

“Mmm. Fergie’s sweet but he’s not really my type. Oh,” she stops and grabs his wrist to pull him back when he walks on a step. “Look across the road; artisan ice cream. Let’s go. Oh well,” she sighs as she checks for oncoming traffic, “guess there’s only one no strings orgasm option left for me now …”

“What’s that … Brooke-ing yourself?”

“Nup … you’ll just have to step up, Scott.”

He stops dead and Peyton laughs lightly at the look of total shock on his face.

“Step up to _buy me ice cream,”_ she explains with a cheeky grin, poking him in the chest. “ _Artisan ice cream_ … gotta be orgasmic, right?”

“Right!” he agrees, shaking his head as they cross the road.

“So,” he ventures when they’re safely across and standing on the opposite pavement “… if girls talked in high school … what was the word on yours truly amongst the squad?”

“Yeah right! ‘Cos Brooke would have told me her … impressions … after you made your little sex tape!”

“Bygones Sawyer, bygones. Anyway, the question is what were _you_ telling the girls, not vice versa?”

“I am sooo not feeding your ego right now.”

“Ha … well that tells me all I need to know,” he says smugly.

“I don’t see how!”

“If it would _feed my ego_ , then the press had to be good.”

She rolls her eyes, hits him on this bicep and shakes her head. He’s impossible. But she loves that the Nathan she used to know is so well and truly back. She loves the fun and flirty way they talk. It’s chilled and relaxed and harmless and makes her feel kind of carefree and light.

They join the line and choose their flavours and, finding a free bar leaner table when they come out, stand and eat their dessert. She asks him to save her a spoonful of his Black Sesame to try, not being brave enough to order a whole scoop of the grey looking concoction but kind of intrigued by the idea, and he says maybe but, when he’s down to the last spoonful, starts to move it towards her then turns the spoon around quickly and puts it in his own mouth, widening his eyes at her and grinning at her grumpy reaction. She reaches out with a finger and wipes a tiny bit off the corner of his mouth, licks it off her finger thoughtfully, then very swiftly grabs a serviette, says ‘C’mere’ and makes as if to wipe some ice cream off the side of his face. He leans forward, expecting just that, but instead she grabs his collar, pulls him closer, touches her lips to his and slides her tongue into his mouth, prying away some of the ice cream he denied her, then pushing him away while she dusts her hands together with a _take that_ flourish.

She laughs again at the complete shock that is written all over his face, revelling in how often she’s getting the better of him lately. When he continues to stand there, staring at her, she bites her lip and stutters out an apology and says yeah, maybe that was just a bit gross, and she shouldn’t have …

“No,” he interrupts. “Not gross. Just … intimate.”

“Sorry,” she says again with a semi cringe.

“Intimate,” he repeats, “and … hot.”

She ducks her head, feelingher cheeks flush, and picks up her bag, thinking they should get going but when she turns to go, he places a hand to one side of her on the bar leaner, the side to which she’s turning to go, therefore blocking her exit route and when she looks up to see what’s going on, he kisses her. His lips, and hers, are cold from the ice cream but warm up fast.

He’s holding his entire body away from her, the only things touching are their lips, and he’s reminding her, in no uncertain terms, _exactly_ how good a kisser he is. At first, his lips are just _there,_ with hers, a little pressure, not too much. Then there’s a breath, and a nibble, and his lips both softly playing with her bottom lip. His tongue slips over her mouth, testing. And, when she just can’t do anything but part her lips to him, he’s delving in and the temperature rises instantly. She has no idea if it’s because it’s just been _so long_ , or if it’s this gorgeous balmy night, or the drinks, or God forbid just because it’s him, but she is _reeling_ from this kiss and responding vigorously, flicking her tongue around the inside of his top lip, which she remembers he loves, nibbling his bottom lip, opening up to him.

She vaguely hears someone suggest they get a room, and someone else retorting that they hope they look that hot when they kiss. She breaks away, and ducks her head again, not sure in the slightest what to do or say. He wordlessly grabs her hand and leads her away, heading back towards their accommodation. She just can’t be the first one to speak. She knows she kind of, almost certainly, well _definitely_ started that but … she never in a million years imagined _that_ would happen! They’ve walked a few hundred yards, and neither has spoken, and he’s still got her hand loosely in his, fingers entwined. She can’t _speak_ , but eventually she can’t keep doing _this_ either. She pulls up and just ... stops. His hand slips away as he keeps walking, but then he turns and steps back. They stand, face to face, a couple of feet apart, just looking at each other.

“We can’t …” he says.

“I know.”

“… can we?” he asks, stunned.

“I … don’t know, Nate.”

“Maybe? But ... how could that even work?”

“One-off reunion night?” The words are out before she even knows she’s thought them. She claps both her hands over her mouth as if to try and stop them, but they’re out there. He can’t help but laugh, head thrown back. Then he looks at her, suddenly semi-serious.

“I’d buy a ticket to that gig,” he smirks.

She’s all mock outrage. “Buy? Are you suggesting money’s changing hands here, Scott?”

“Oh, my God, you think I have a death wish?”

And they’re both laughing, then turning and continuing on their way, this time with her arm around his hip, her hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, and his arm around her shoulder. They say no more about it, until they reach the hotel. The door slides open, and as they go through, he tells her to go upstairs, he just wants to check out a couple of things with reception. She gives him an odd look but heads off. He goes straight to the bar, orders a neat Scotch and knocks it back in one. That kiss was amazing. And he may well live to regret it, but he _thinks_ he’s going to test the waters for a repeat. And maybe that requires a bit of Dutch courage.

When he gets to the room, no more than a few minutes after her, her shoes are lying randomly in the middle of the room and in his mind, he can see her kicking them off. Her bag is on the couch, the sliding door on to the balcony is open and she’s out there, barefoot, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders, tucked into the corner of the railing. He thinks barefoot looks like a great idea and gets rid of his shoes and socks before he steps forward. From the doorway, he can see that she’s already been into the bathroom and washed her face. There’s not a trace of makeup left and she looks nothing short of stunning.

 _He_ moves to stand by her, not having the faintest idea what to say. _She_ thinks she’s never had so many thoughts rush through her head in the space of five seconds before, but they all come back to one thing. That kiss was amazing. And it’s been a _really_ long time.

“Nathan,” she starts, “that kiss ...”

She sounds bothered, and he quickly decides an easy out is best.

“I know,” he sighs. “It’s okay. Pack my bags. Road trip over for me.”

“Not actually what I was going to run with …” she says, almost talking to herself.

“What _were_ you going to run with? That kiss …?”

“Was … kind of amazing and worth repeating?” she says a little breathlessly, with her lips twitching and her eyes sparkling.

One of his hands is on that railing instantly and he is, quite literally, doing that very same kiss, again. The lack of body contact, the lips, then the breath, then the nibble, the test, the tongue. When she’s completely breathless, he takes a step back, takes her hand and leads her inside.

“Nathan?”  
He smiles at her, places the gentlest of kisses on the very corner of her mouth.

“Let me take care of you, Peyton,” he teases softly, “ _really good_ care.” And there is no doubt at all what he means by that. She says nothing, but after a beat, during which their eyes lock and the wheels turn in both their minds, she turns her back to him and holds her hair away from that long zipper.

He edges it down, stopping several times to place kisses on the skin he exposes, including above and below her bra strap, which is a stunning colour that he doesn’t know the name of, and the twin dimples right below the small of her back. He lets the fabric fall past her hips and, God, underwear with wide loose legs, that sits low on her hips and matches that jewel coloured bra, and watches the dress pool around her feet. She lets her hair fall back down and he steps around the dress, taking her hand and raising it, helping her step over the fabric on the floor.

He can see she’s just the tiniest bit shy under his gaze, a light flush over her chest and up her throat, so he runs his hands down her sides and on to her hips, drawing her close to him so she can’t feel his eyes on her any more. He plays with the silky fabric of her underwear, then slips his hands up inside the floaty legs to cup her ass.

“This underwear is incredible,” he murmurs.

She giggles a little against his neck. “Why? ‘Cos you can get your hands inside them?”

“That, and the colour, and … I just haven’t seen …”

“They’re French knickers.”

“They’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, is what they are.”

“You know what’s really great about this style?”

“Apart from the way they look on you?”

She blushes instantly, which somehow reminds him of what she was like way back before he dated her; Junior High, and earlier.

“No! The wide loose legs.”

He looks at her slightly puzzled. She takes his face between her hands and places a kiss right on his lips.

“You don’t even have to take them off,” she murmurs against his mouth before pulling back to gauge his reaction.

“Good to know,” he answers, before he’s lacing the fingers of one hand into her hair and pulling her mouth back to him to be thoroughly kissed while his other hand is efficiently dealing with his belt, zipper, shirt buttons. He’s shrugging out of his shirt and kicking off his trousers in moments, then walking her backwards to the side of the bed and lowering her down, never once breaking contact with those lips. As soon as she’s there, lying on that bed, it’s like she suddenly wakes up and her hands slip into his hair, pulling him closer and responding to his lips, teeth and tongue with an urgency that takes him by surprise.

He moves his attention, his lips and tongue and hands down her body, which is familiar, and yet not. He’s been incredibly intimate with her so many times, but that was all so long ago. _That_ her, from before, has changed, matured. Not that long ago, well, still a year, he’d seen her lounging around his own pool in a tiny bikini and thought nothing of it. How is that underwear, _French_ underwear, that is covering more of her than that bikini did (maybe he did think something of that black bikini, after all) can be so much more arousing than the swimsuit? And it _is_ arousing.  Or maybe it’s the way she’s already arching her back and pressing her hips up against him. Or the way her fingertips are sliding under the top of his boxers and slowly starting to ease the fabric down. Whatever it is, he’s already _there_. 

“Nate.”

“Hmmm?” _Please don’t ask me to stop_.

“Condom. Now.”  _Thank God._

He leans over to grab his wallet, takes just a few seconds to prepare, then, when he moves back towards her, feels her legs wrap around his hips and pull him closer, then closer again.

She takes his face between her hands, stares right into his eyes and speaks.

“Friends first? No matter what?”

He nods, meeting her enquiring gaze easily. Sincerely.

“Absolutely. I promise. Always friends first.”

Then her heels are pressing into his back and he’s pushing into her. The sensation of that silky fabric near him is incredible and when he feels her deliberately tightening around him, he thinks he’ll lose his mind. His plan was to indulge her, take care of her. She just shot that plan to hell. Or heaven. But she doesn’t seem to mind, because she’s telling him with her hands, and with her hips to move faster, not to slow it down, and honestly, he doesn’t know if he could if he tried. He responds to her urging, and before long she’s gasping out that she’s so close, and he’s moaning into her hair and then they’re both over the edge.

When he wakes up (first, no surprises there), the thought that flits through his head is that something is different. He gradually becomes aware that there is a leg thrown over his left thigh, fingers splayed across his chest and long wavy hair over his shoulder. The something different is not that there’s a girl there, though that hasn’t happened since his divorce. Well, even earlier; since he was thrown out of his house. The something different is not that the girl is someone other than his wife, _ex-wife_ , though that hadn’t happened since she _became_ his wife. The something different is not even that the girl is his old high school girlfriend, latterly best friend and all round unconditional, enthusiastic supporter. The something different is that he feels like he can _breathe_ , and he honestly didn’t even know that he’d been missing that for the last God knows how long.

Still, the girl wrapped around him _is_ his old high school girlfriend, latterly best mate. And she smells amazing, and she looks just gorgeous lying there fast asleep, more relaxed than he’s seen her look for, well for months. And that’s even being very aware that she is probably more chilled out with him than with most others, because, as she has said herself, they know each other’s worst bits and they just don’t care. Maybe _that’s_ why he feels like he can breathe. Someone … _she_ … wanted _him_ without any riders, conditions, must dos, should haves, if onlys. It had felt good … great … amazing … to just be in the moment and let everything fall away. Including, he thinks, his intention … which was to tend to her. But she just got him too …

He realises she’s stirring, making little stretching movements to wake herself up, but without moving much. He knows she’s conscious enough to hear him when her fingers start drawing on his chest a few minutes later.

“Hey.”

She likes the vibration his voice makes in his chest under her ear, and he can feel her subsequent smile against his skin.

“Hey yourself,” she replies. They’re both a little surprised that it doesn’t feel awkward, or at least not very. She’s wondering what she should say, if she should say anything, but not in an anxious ‘oh crap what have I done?’ kind of way, when he takes care of it for her.

“So, I’m thinking that that wasn’t exactly the best ...” he starts.

“Oh, my God,” she’s sitting up, clutching the sheets over herself. “You think that was a really bad idea. It’s fine. We can just forget it ever ...”

“Whoa! Whoa! Not actually what I was going to run with.” She recognises her own words from the night before being quoted back to her. And reciprocates with his.

“So … what _were_ you going to run with? It wasn’t exactly the best …?”

“That it wasn’t exactly the best performance I ever gave.”

“What? Are you crazy? No complaints here.”

“Well … there’s never _complaints_.”

She grins wickedly at him and drops the sheet, throwing her leg over him so that she’s straddling his hips, and all he can do is look up at her gorgeous form and grin. “If you’re not convinced you put on a good enough show,” she teases, “you could always try and wow me with a repeat performance.”

“Sawyer? You said one-off,” he reminds her.

“Hmm. I think I actually said one-off _night_.”

“It’s morning.”

“I disagree. I’m never awake this early therefore it must still be night.”

“Now that’s logical.”

“Complaining?”

“Nope,” he grins, moving swiftly to roll her off him and on to her back but she anticipates his move and instinctively tightens her thighs against his, leaning her weight against his movement so that he doesn’t manage to tip her off. 

She threads her fingers with his, and takes his arms up above his head, leaning forward over him as she goes. Those lips of hers are creating havoc, around his jaw, his ear, teasing the edge of his mouth for an eternity so that he just has to move his head to the left and raise up a bit so he can stop that playing and kiss her properly; hard, deep, probing into her mouth with his tongue and chuckling as she responds with an intense urgency.

He knows she’ll pull her fingers free from his at some point, either to trail them down his chest, or to run them through his hair, so he waits and, when she does the latter, his hands fall to her hips immediately, his thumbs sweeping back and forth across her hip bones.

He runs his fingertips down her bluey-green bra straps and across the top of the lacy front, watching goose bumps appear across her rounded skin as his fingers travel.

“See this is what I meant,” he says, dipping his fingers into the top of her bra, “I wanted to take care of you last night, _really good care_ I seem to recall, and we ended up being so frantic that I didn’t even get you out of this.”

“But it was good frantic,” she teases with a lilting laugh in her voice.

He’s still admiring her, fingertips and palms doing crazy things to her, teasing around the edges of her bra, rubbing against her almost, but not quite, accidentally. Her physical response is obvious to them both. She reaches behind her back to undo the clasp, but his hands still hers quickly.

A tiny frown crosses her forehead then vanishes as she takes in the way he’s openly admiring her.

“What’s this colour?” he asks, his voice gravelly and low.

“Turquoise, I think?”

“Leave it on.”

“Nathan?”

“That colour on your skin. That lace. Fuck, it’s amazing.”

He runs his fingers down over her breasts, her stomach, to the top of those French knickers.

“These though? As sexy as they are, these are coming off.”

And he’s gently pushing the silk down her legs, holding her up while they slip down, then running one of those large, confident hands up her legs, her hips and back to that turquoise lace, while the other is at the back of her head, pulling her forward again to start another seriously decent kiss.

She’s loving that rapt attention he’s bestowing on her, but really, she just wants him _now_ , so while he’s more than just a bit distracted trying, it seems, to prove that he is the best kisser known to womankind, her fingers have taken another small packet from his wallet on the nightstand and torn it open. When he pulls away from her momentarily to catch his breath, she straightens up and moves to complete her task.

He tries to move her hands and she knows he wants to make this long and slow and incredible for her … but she just gives him her very best ‘don’t mess with me’ look and takes him in her hand and guides him into her, taking his hands and placing them on her hips, then leaning forward to grip his shoulders, touching her open lips to his jaw while she starts slowly rotating her hips.

A low moan escapes his lips followed by a protest. “I wanted …”

She stops him in the simplest way, by kissing him until he just can’t speak. And soon the tempo of her hips increases, and his hands are aiding her in her movements until he feels her tense. He holds his hips still, watches her face as she straightens up, throws her head back and revels in the ripples that come over her. As she’s coming down, he picks up his rhythm again, a few slow strong upward strokes, then she’s leaning forward on to him again, brushing that lace against his chest, tugging at his hair a little and murmuring into his ear words that are just edgy enough to have him changing gear from controlled, slow and strong to faster and harder and deeper until he too is throwing his head back and gasping.

When he next wakes up, she’s not there and he has just a moment where he thinks she’s done a runner, then he hears the shower. And when his head goes to imagine her, naked, with water cascading over her, there’s really only one thing he can possibly do.

Her back is to the door, and she’s humming something he doesn’t recognise at all. Her hair reaches well past her shoulder blades, almost to her waist, when it’s soaked. She’s got a dollop of shampoo in her left hand and has just replaced the bottle on the ledge with her right, when she feels him step in behind her. He takes her hand, scoops the shampoo out of it, spreads it between his palms and starts massaging it into her scalp. She’s a little off balanced by it for a moment, but his fingers and hands are so strong and the pressure he’s applying all over her scalp as he massages in the shampoo is just perfect, and she finds herself leaning back against him, completely relaxed. She doesn’t think anyone else has ever washed her hair for her, other than when she’s getting it cut, so she can’t compare it to anything … but there’s a very good chance she just died and went to heaven, because this feels amazing.

Eventually he extracts the shower head from its bracket and sluices the shampoo out of her hair then repeats the whole process with her conditioner. 

“Want me to recommend you for an off-season job at my salon?” she asks, laughing, when he’s replacing the shower head back in its holder. She goes to turn to face him but he stops her, placing his arms around her waist from behind and trailing his lips along her shoulder and up her neck.

His left thumb is circling her nipple and his right hand is sliding down her belly when he answers her.

“Didn’t hear anything after ‘want me’. And yes. I do.” His voice is right by her ear, and she can feel that broad, muscular chest right behind her.

“Again?”

“Oh yeah. I said _I_ wanted to take really good care of _you_ and instead you got all girl in charge on me.”

“So, taking good care of me means washing my hair? Nice touch. And I mean that in every way.”

“Always got to save a big crowd pleaser for the encore, right?” he says suggestively.

“We really need to stop using cheesy music gig analogies.”

“I’m all out now anyway. So, about that nice touch …”

“Mmmm. _That’s_ pretty nice …” she murmurs as his hand caresses her hip.

“Reach back and put your hands behind my neck.”

“Bossy.”

“It’s in your best interests, Sawyer, trust me. Good girl. Now lean your weight back on me. Relax, I’ve got you.”

“What are …”

“Just hush,” he instructs.

His hands and the water from that shower head are sweeping all over her; slowly, gently but firmly, he takes long strokes over her hips, stomach, torso, breasts and back down. She thinks that if she was stretched up and slightly back like this with anyone else she’d feel so exposed and at risk, but his body is like a rock behind her and his hands are making her feel safer than anything else she’s known and she just doesn’t understand how that can be. Nor does she care.

She finds herself almost in a trance after he’s completed several of these massage-like passes over her. It’s almost like he feels the moment when she _really_ allows herself to relax, and that’s when his left hand stops at her hip and presses her back into him so she can feel how aroused he’s become, while his right palm slips down to the top of her thigh. He wraps his fingers around to the inside of her thigh, caressing softly.

“Tell me how it is that your _incredible_ body doesn’t have any tan lines on it _what_ soever?” he asks, making her laugh at his awestruck tone. “Peyton Sawyer, do you sunbathe naked?”

“Occasionally, maybe,” she admits a little breathlessly.

“Where?”

“I have a spot.”

“Are you being evasive?”

“A little. Maybe.”

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me about your _spot_ … put your foot up on that ledge.”

She obeys his voice without even questioning it, giving him open access, which he immediately takes advantage of. His fingers are spreading her, teasing her, circling her, stroking and rubbing her and, finally, when she thinks she’s going to have to cave and beg him to do it, they’re inside her. Pushing and thrusting, playing with tempo, working in combination with his thumb which is doing insane things just above his fingers. She’s throbbing against his hand.

“Come, babe,” he murmurs into her ear.

“I want you.”

“You’ve got my fingers inside you right now,” he points out with a deep, throaty, desire-filled timbre.

“I want ...”

“Not yet,” he says firmly. “I want you to come first.”

“Nathan ...”

“This one’s all about you,” he insists with a softer tone.

“Can you ...?” she hesitates. Can she ask? Should she?

“Yes. Just tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”

“Just a little … oh …” she sighs. Apparently, there’s no need to ask.

“Faster?” he murmurs knowingly near her ear. “And higher?”  
“Yeah … oh … just there.”

“And my thumb?”

“Little more pressure. Oh God … perfect.”

He obliges and also slides his left hand, still at her hip, up to her breast to run his fingertip around and over her nipple, in time with his thumb, creating an intense feeling of connection between her sensitive zones. When he teases her earlobe with his teeth and lips and places a hot open-mouthed kiss on to the pulse at her neck, then sucks at it, she completely unravels.

It’s so utterly intense that she drops her right hand to his, trying to make him stop but he chuckles against her neck and continues to suck there, while his thumb still presses against her and his fingers keep plunging up into her, drawing out her orgasm until she feels her knees give way. He’s ready for it, catches her, spins her around, lifts her with his hands under her ass and wraps her legs around his hips. He’s got her back against the wall and is driving into her before she even begins to descend.

Her eyes fly open right as he’s releasing, green and blue holding on to their intense gaze as he thrusts just a few more times.

 

She’s wrapped in a towel, putting some goop that she really doesn’t need on her face, and looking pensive. He gets out of the shower, wraps a towel around his hips and touches her shoulder.

“Stop overthinking it.”

She smiles and shakes her head.

“What is it, Peyt?”

“Just a little flashback.”

“To?”

She blushes but doesn’t answer.

“Hey,” he says, placing a hand on her hip. “We said friendship first, right? So, talk. If we bury stuff, this _will_ get awkward. Flashback to what?”

 _When_ did he get so smart, she skes herself before she answers.

“The last time you and I did that in the shower was …”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, “it was _the_ last time before we broke up for the last time.”

“You remember?”

He’s not going to tell her about the night, only a little more than half a year ago, when he was lying in his own guest room and images of _that_ day flew into his head for the first time in years. So, he shrugs. “We were pretty memorable in that respect, Sawyer. That morning …”

She suddenly claps her hands over her face and a look of absolute horror descends on her face.

“What now?” he asks with clear concern.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers with closed eyes. “This was such a bad ...”

“Hey!”

“Jesus Nathan, we basically just recreated that morning!”

“What are you …?”  
“Three times. You on top. Then me on … then in the shower … this is just so …”

“No. It’s _not!”_ he stops her with an impassioned cry. “We’re _not_ those kids. And recreating? Not intentional. But …”

“But?”

“Maybe it’s … subconscious,” he drags his hand through his hair while he tries to collect his thoughts. “I dunno … in a way maybe it’s the final part of healing, forgiving. Is that way too new agey?”

“No. But … we’re fine … we’re good. We’ve been good for _years_. There’s nothing left to forgive.”

“Really? Do you _really_ mean that?”

“Yes! Nathan, I’ve been totally fine with all of that for a long, long time. Since … God, before Junior year even finished. Are you saying you weren’t? Did _you_ not forgive _me_?”

“Now there _really_ wasn’t anything to forgive when it came to you.”

“Yes, there was,” she argues. “I was a bitch to you.”

“Only ‘cos I was an ass to you.”

“Then maybe you need to forgive yourself? We’ve covered this, Nate. You’re not that guy. You weren’t that guy anymore as soon as you and Haley …”

At that, he raises his hand.

“No. I know that’s how it seemed. That she changed me. But it started before. It started with you. I’ve _told_ you that.”

“I don’t see … I didn’t see ...”

“I know you didn’t see it, any of the … reform, but in my head, it had started. I couldn’t stop it in time for you; the crappy behaviour, I mean. But I knew I had to find a way. It started with you ‘cos I _hated_ what I was doing to you. I think that’s why that last time, that last _three times_ , is implanted in my head. It was …” he shakes his head. Doesn’t have the words.

“.. emotionally charged?” she supplied quietly.

He nods. Yes.

“Yeah,” she continues. “I think I got that feeling even then. But I didn’t really know …”

“I knew,” he tells her, laying himself open. “That morning. I knew the end was right there. I knew I was on my last … warning? I knew it and I knew I’d fuck it up. I didn’t want to but I just felt it coming. Like a freaking freight train. And like I was tied to the tracks.”

“You were pretty darn frisky for someone who was tied to the tracks,” she says with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky smile.

He laughs and the air around them feels a little lighter.

“I just … I dunno. It sounds bad. I don’t mean it like this, but I just couldn’t get enough of you when I felt like my time was running out.”

“You know,” she says pensively, “I do believe everything happens for a reason, and we go through what we go through to get us to where we need to be. But … if only, and there’s no point in if only, but if only we’d been a bit more articulate about how we felt …”

“You think we’d have stayed together all this time?”

“No. No, I don’t. You and me? We needed to be apart to come back and find us as _friends_. But I think if we’d been better to each other while we were together, we’d both have made different choices after that, or maybe even the same choices but for better, healthier reasons.”

“Yeah. Maybe so.”

He notices her eyes are shining a little and wipes under her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. She shakes her head.

“What? Sawyer. C’mon. What?”

“That day. In the shower. I remember there was just this one moment when I thought …”

“You thought what?” he asks gently, bending down a little so he can look into her downcast eyes.

“That I tasted salt in the water?” she says, shaking her head against the crazy thought. “That you were ... maybe … crying.”

He kisses her on the temple.

“You did,” he confirms without embarrassment. “You did taste salt. And I was.”

He turns towards the door, then turns back and swats her on the ass.

“Now let’s get this show on the road, Sawyer. We need to check out in 15 minutes.”

They’re fine as they’re checking out. A little light-hearted banter. A little discussion over who’s driving first (he wins). But once they’re under way, it slowly becomes a little tense, a little awkward. Then more so. It’s his music choice but, knowing suddenly what she can do to break the increasingly awkward silence, after a half hour or so she moves without warning and starts fiddling with her iPhone to select a track.

“Oi! My music!” he accuses.  
“One track,” she says, determined.

“No!”

“ _One_ track,” she repeats, insistent.

“Only if I get one back when it’s your turn.”

“Oh, my God. You’re a child.”

“Your rules, Sawyer. Deal or not?” he says, reaching out and wrapping his hand around both her hand and her phone, all the while tempted to tell her he wasn’t a fucking child last night while she was moaning his name and writhing beneath him.

“Deal.”

And when Marvin Gaye’s _Sexual Healing_ starts to play, he’s glad he held his tongue and didn’t make that crass remark. She looks across at him with a worried question in her eyes. He rests his hand on her shoulder for a long moment.

“We’re good, Sawyer. Perfect song.”

And she draws in a deep, cleansing breath. They’ll be okay.

 

When they reach the outskirts of Spartanburg and start the daily look out for a decent looking motel with a vacancy sign, she’s driving and he tells her, with a knowing look that she can’t quite figure out, that he’s calling in his IOU on the song.

“Of course, you are,” she mutters. And she really shouldn’t be surprised that it’s Marvin Gaye again. _Let’s Get It On._

And dammit, that is _such_ a sexy song. And she’s thinking about his body now. And what he did to hers last night. They check in in silence. He catches her eye as they’re each grabbing their bag out of the trunk of the car. She blushes and starts walking towards the room. And damn her! He _knows_ she’s swinging her hips more than she usually does.

By the time they reach the room, the air between them is charged.  She enters the room ahead of him, drops her bag and turns to face him. He pushes the door closed, flicks the lock without looking and throws his bag towards the bed. His wallet and keys follow. Neither of him knows who takes the first step but within seconds they’re both shirtless, he’s hauling her up with his hands under her ass and her legs are wrapped around his waist. By the time the kissing starts, he’s got her back pinned against the wall and her hands are at the back of his neck. All he can think is that thank God, she’s wearing a skirt today.

“Bed,” she moans into his mouth.

“No,” he retorts defiantly, levering her legs from his waist until she’s standing again but leaning close against him, then slipping one of his hands under her skirt and starting to drag her underwear down.

“Nathan …”

He stops her with a fiery kiss, one hand still under her skirt on her now naked skin, the other unzipping his jeans, and hurriedly pushing them down, along with his boxers then running his hand down to behind her knee and pulling her leg up to wrap around his hip again.

“Stop,” she sighs, tipping her head away as he feels him pressing against her, “stop, stop, stop.”

“Really?” he asks, sucking on her neck, and she groans as he starts to slip into her.

“Nathan! Stop!”

He pulls back just a fraction, his eyes almost black, his breathing short, every muscle in his body taut.

“Condom,” she breathes in explanation. He blinks. He really doesn’t want to move to get it, to break contact. His gaze slips sideways to his bag. It seems miles away.

“In my back pocket,” she whispers, as if she’s read his mind.

“Girl Scout,” he murmurs against her ear while slipping his fingers into her skirt pocket. She raises an eyebrow in question.

“Be prepared?” he drawls, as he makes his preparations.

“I’m prepared all right,” she answers with a husky breath, tilting her hips against him and making him groan. He skims his fingers over her, drawing his breath in at how ready she is.  “Oh God,” she gasps as he lifts her other leg up to wrap it around his hips, positions his hands either side of her ribcage, squeezes his forearms against her sides so he’s supporting her, and thrusts up into her.

It’s fast and intense and heated. And it’s not enough. He holds her up against the wall afterwards until their breathing has started to slow again, his head on her shoulder, her hands in his hair.

“Nate?”  
“Hmmm?”  
“Bed.”

“Again?”

“Again. When you’re ready.”

He chuckles. “That would be now then.”

“Your stamina is really quite impressive.”

“Yours too.”

 

 

“What happened to Road Trip Rules?” she asks, a couple of hours later.

“Which one?”  
“Don’t screw the crew.”

“Well, that was your rule, not mine,” he chuckles.

“Nathan!”

“It’s … I dunno … the fire’s still there.”

“What?”

“It didn’t exactly take lighter fluid and a match, Sawyer ...”

“I know,” she says, twisting her fingers together anxiously. “But …”

“But?”

“I _cannot_ lose you, Nate!” she cries out. “I _can’t_. You’re too important to me. We’ve hung on to each other through so much. That’s worth so much more than a couple of nights of …”

“Peyton, you’re too important to me, too. Whatever happens, you won’t lose me.”

“Promise?”  
“Promise. I promised last night. I promise tonight. I’ll promise every night for the rest of this trip if you need me to.”

“The rest of the trip?” she asks, completely befuddled, but aware of that fire rising again.

“You want to?”

“Oh God, you are gonna get me into so much trouble …”

“Starting now?”

“Yeah. Right now. Unless you need to go shoot around, or work out.”  
“I think we’ll call this today’s workout,” he replies, rolling on to her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Nathan and Peyton keep travelling, and talking, we learn a lot about Nathan's rehab, exactly how friendly Peyton and Jono were, how Naley came to split and how much of a jerk Lucas has been. Oh, and Karen makes an extended appearance too!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more looking back to fill in the gaps. In which I borrow lots of bits from series 5, and twist them to my own will, and Lucas does not come off well.

**Day 20**

_Heading to home, B.  Or home for the night anyway. Athens, Georgia. On to Augusta tomorrow. Finally found a promising act. Pxxx_

 

“You’re excited about this guy,” he observes as they head back to the motel after a fruitful night in a local bar.

“Yeah, I think so,” she muses, her head racing with thoughts and plans.

“Very different to Mia,” he observes.

“I said I needed diversity. He’s … he’s got something. I need to think about it a bit though. Something needs a tweak but I haven’t worked out what it is.”

“Well, remember this moment.”  
She looks at him, puzzled.

“Could be the beginning of the next big thing,” he says. “Gotta be in the moment, right? That way you remember the significant ones.”  
“That’s … awfully philosophical for you.”

“That’s me,” he jokes, “the philosophical baller.”

“Do _you_?” she asks. “Have moments? That you remember as being the starting point of something big?”

“At this point? Probably more a day, I guess.”

“The day you got out of that wheelchair?”  
“For my career, yeah. That would be one of the big days. Along with being drafted in the first place. But for my _life_? It was the day after that.”

_It was big, momentous day, the day Nathan Scott transitioned from wheelchair to crutches; he got vertical, read two of the people closest to him the riot act in his kitchen and started sleeping in the guestroom. But the next day was even bigger._

_Noticing that_ he _has slept away from_ her _, Carrie the part-time housekeeper, but full-time nut job makes her move. When Nathan’s in the shower, late in the afternoon, she strips and steps in behind him. He thinks it’s Haley. He’s still pissed at her and he doesn’t want to be weak, but he’s feeling like he can actually get back to the guy he was; he feels_ physical _again and God he’s horny, especially after the memory of_ that _morning back in high school, that morning with Peyton, before Haley was anything other than a tutor to him, had come to him unbidden the night before, while he lay in his own guestroom. And God, his wife’s hands feel amazing. His balance is still shonky though, and as he leans back, groaning at her touch, he slips, taking her down with him. She lands on top of him and that’s when he sees her face. Fuck. It’s_ not _Haley._

 _Right at that moment,_ of course _, Haley walks into the bathroom and catches them. He protests. He tries to explain. He begs. She laughs in his face._

 _“Well. It looks like I was right to be suspicious after all, Nathan. I was just looking at the wrong slut. Or maybe there’s more than one? I’m going to Luke and Lindsey’s for the night. Pack your bags while I’m gone. When your_ other _floozy picks you up for rehab tomorrow you can get her to drop you wherever you’re going to be living from now on. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”_

_When Peyton walks in the door the next day, collecting Nathan for rehab, she trips over the pile of bags. He apologises, helps her up off the pile of bags, then asks her to help him get them into the back of the Range Rover._

_“Nathan, what the hell is this?” she asks, hands on hips and determined to get answers._

_“Can you just help me with the bags?” he asks in a tired voice. “I’ll tell you on the way.”_

_After a long hard look at each other, they, well, she - ‘cos it’s kind of hard to carry a big bag while you’re on crutches - loads the car, then she watches in total confusion as he takes his house key off his key ring, leaves it on the hall table, then flicks the nib on the front door, closes it behind him and checks that it’s locked. Obviously, something massive has happened but she knows him and she won’t ask. And she just drives, waiting for him to speak. It comes out of nowhere when they’ve been driving for more than fifteen minutes._

_“Haley caught me in the shower with Carrie.”_

_“And you were in the shower with Carrie, why?” she replies as if asking him about why a particular item was on the grocery list. Somehow_ her _total and utter calm calms_ him _, and he talks._

_“She got in with me. I thought it was Hales. My balance still isn’t great, I slipped and she was on top of me, which is when I actually saw her and … also exactly when Hales came in.”_

_“Pretty damning.”_

_He nods._

_“What did you say to Haley?”_

_“Tried to explain. Tried to get her to see reason. Begged. She went to stay at Luke and Lindsey’s last night, told me to be gone by the time she’s back and to get you … by the way, you are, apparently, my ‘other floozy’ … to drop me ‘wherever I’m going to be living from now on.’”_

_Peyton pulls the car off the road and kills the engine._

_“Sawyer, just drive,” he sighs, dragging his palms down his face then through his hair. “I don’t need a heart to heart.”_

_“And you’re not going to get one. Not from me anyway. Couple of minutes. Just some rapid-fire questions then we’re on our way.”_

_“Fine,” he sighs._  
“Are you having an affair with Carrie?”  
“No.”  
“Good. Why did Haley call me your ‘other floozy’?”

_“When I went in the other day, Luke and Lindsey were both there. I caught Lindsey and Haley sounding off about you. I read the riot act because Lindsey was suggesting Haley needed to watch you, that if you couldn’t have Luke you’d take a run at me. And, by the way, I’m totally pissed that you didn’t tell me what was going on with them. It sounds like they …”_

_“So not the time, Nathan!  We’re talking about you. Where are you going to stay tonight?”_

_“With Skills. I talked to him earlier. Probably for a couple of days. Then, I guess, a hotel until I can handle stairs. Then I’ll get an apartment.”  
“No …”_

_“Do_ not _suggest I stay with you and Brooke!” he says harshly. “That’ll just add fuel to the fire and it’s already fucking nasty.”_

_“Wasn’t going to. I’m not an idiot. I just think if you get an apartment you’re admitting defeat, that you think you and Haley can’t work it out.”_

_“We can’t,” he says sullenly._

_“Nathan, come on! It’s just one ...”_

_“No,” he says firmly. “When I told you that I wasn’t having an affair with Carrie, what was your first thought?”_

_“It was ‘okay’.”_

_“You believe me?”  
“Yeah.”_

_“Why?”  
“Because you’re telling the truth.”_

_“Haley thinks I’m lying. She will_ always _think I’m lying about this stuff. I have_ never once _cheated on her. Never. I have never given her any reason whatsoever to doubt my fidelity. But she is_ always _looking for it. And if she’s not looking for infidelity, she’s looking for some other way I’ve fucked up. The last 48 hours have just put a massive magnifying glass on the whole thing.”_

 _“Nathan. No!” Peyton insists vehemently. “She_ loves _you. You_ love _her. It’s just been a really rough few months. She’ll come back.”_

_“I doubt that very much. But even if she does, I’m … no,” he says shaking his head with an expression that shows he’s just realising something huge, “I’m done. I can’t keep being the guy that’s set up to fail. I went into the kitchen on crutches two days ago, after months in that wheelchair, and it took her ... fuck … ten minutes to even notice. She was too busy defending that bitch Lucas calls his fiancee over the way the two of them have been treating you.”_

_“Oh shit!_ Please _tell me this is not actually about me.”_

 _“No! No, it’s not. I called them both on it and told Haley she should apologise to you, but this is_ not _about that. She ... look she may well run it all together in her head. But it’s not. She … things have been rough for a while. I guess I just didn’t realise how rough. I thought we were over the … over my little ... well, not so little … dark patch, but apparently not.”_

_She thinks about how unsure he was the other day that his wife would be thrilled about the progress from wheelchair to crutches and decides that she is not going push any of this. Not right now. She just needs to get him to rehab so he can focus on something good. She starts the car again and turns to look at him._

_“Tell me you’re going to be okay, Nate, then I’ll back off.”_

_“I’m going to be just dandy, Sawyer. Like you said the other day, Nathan Scott is back.”_

_She looks at him, nods and pulls out onto the highway._

_“Good enough. I’m not going to ask you or press you or harass you, Nate. But you know where I am if you need me, and you need to be warned_ right now _that I will be_ seriously _pissed if you don’t ask me for help or a shoulder if you need it.”_

 

 

“How bizarre is that?” she asks him now, as she’s selecting more music.

“Not that unusual, I’d have thought,” he says wrily. “That the day my marriage ended is one I consider to be highly significant.”  
“No,” she explains, “I mean that the very same day of your _personal_ turning point, is the day of my _professional_ one. The day you and Brooke invested in me and Karen gave me the space at Tric.”

“It was a huge day,” he nods. “It was also the day that Brooke had Luke believing you were dating Jono.”  
“She _what_?” she asks, flabbergasted, almost dropping her phone and juggling it comically for a few seconds.

 

_The same day, three hours later, they’re preparing to leave the rehab session. Nathan’s done a heavy session with Jono, followed by almost an hour walking in the pool. He’s poured all of his frustration into the physical work and he’s beat; Peyton can see it in his stance, in his face, and in the pride that he’s carrying like a badge of honour._

_She’s packing up her laptop and Nathan and Jono are running over plans to the next session, when Jono suddenly turns away from Nathan to speak to her._

_“Oh, hey. Peyton,” he begins, tapping his finger against his chin. “I meant to tell you. I finally remembered why your name was so familiar.”_

_“I’m not sure I want to know,” she teases._

_“No. It’s good,” he says, with a ressuring smile. “You remember Ian Banks?”_

_She’s aware of two sets of eyes on her. Jono’s. Nathan’s. Brown and blue. One seemingly unaware and one a little concerned. But she can’t keep looking at those sets of eyes because the room feels like it’s tilting. She drops her bag, both her hands flying to her mouth because she honestly thinks she might be sick. She feels her increasing heartbeat and waves of dizziness, and falls back on to her seat. Damn, it’s happening again._

_Nathan’s at her side in an instant, dropping his crutches and reaching for her hand. She hangs on for dear life, her knuckles white. Her breath is hard, fast and she’s gasping for air._

_“Peyton!”_

_Her eyes are wide, dilated and now_ he’s _panicking._

_“Bag,” she gasps._

_“What?”  
“Bag!” _

_She’s gesturing wildly at her bag which he bends to pick up and open. She grabs a folded paper bag from it, fumbles to unfold it and starts breathing in and out of it, eyes closed. He just doesn’t know what to do, but his left hand on her thigh and his right on her shoulder seem to be okay with her. And then she drops her free hand onto his and presses down and he knows he’s helping at least a little, even though her breath doesn’t seem to be evening out at all and her eyes are still panic-stricken. Jono steps in front of her and quietly and calmly speaks, turning her face gently with his hand and locking his gaze onto hers._

_“Peyton,” he says softly but firmly. “Keep breathing with me. Slow it down now, okay? In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.”_

_She continues to breathe, eyes now closed again, following Jono’s tone and timing and after a few minutes, which seem much, much longer to Nathan, she opens her eyes again and slowly removes the paper bag. Jono speaks first._

_“Peyton. Can you look at me?”_

_She does, eyelids heavy looking._

_“I need you to talk to me. How’s your breathing feeling?”  
“Okay.”_

_“I need more than that. What else is happening?”_

_“It’s almost normal again,” she assures him. “I’m okay. The dizziness has gone. I don’t feel like I’ll throw up anymore.”_

_“I’m so sorry. If I’d known mentioning it would trigger an attack, I’d have found another way. You … you’re always so together. I didn’t …”_

_“I’m fine,” she interrupts him, her palm towards him. “I need to go.”_

_“I can’t let you drive until I’m sure you’re alright.”_

_“Jono. I’m fine. I’ll sit for a few minutes if you want to be sure.”_

_“Alright. Just sit. Keep your bag handy in case. I’ll be back shortly.”_

_Jono catches Nathan’s eye and indicates that he should follow him. They move just far away enough that they can speak quietly without Peyton hearing them._

_“How long is it since she had any contact with Banks?” Jono askes Nathan, who is still completely thrown but what he just witnessed._

_“Um. Her last year at high school? So, I guess … four years. No … it must be more than that.”_

_“She’s been having panic attacks that long? I’ve never seen any sign …”_

_“What? No! I’ve_ never _seen that happen before. She ... all that stuff with Psycho Derek, um Banks, she dealt with it. She and Brooke, her best friend, they were both attacked by him, they went to see him in prison and confronted him and let it go.”_

_“So, what else is going on to give her panic attacks?” his rehab therapist asks him, arms folded over his chest in a stance that Nathan recognises is like looking in a mirror._

_“Well ... nothing. Like I said, it’s never happened before.”_

_“Then why is she carrying a paper bag with her in case it happens?”_

_“I ... I … fuck,” Nathan stammers. “I don’t know. What would cause this?”  
“Phobias. Extreme stress.  Amongst …”_

_“You knew what to do,” Nathan points out. “You seem to know a lot about it.”  
“Not really. My little sister used to have them. Turned out she was being bullied and ostracised at school. Changed schools. Panic attacks stopped. Girls can be such little bitches at that age.”_

_“Yeah,” Nathan says, the cogs turning, “Banks ... you said it was good … how could you think mentioning someone that attacked her, held her captive, tried and nearly succeeded in raping ... how could you think that was_ good _?”_

 _“Because he’s_ dead _, Nathan. I wanted her to know he’s dead, in case there was any lingering fear.”_

 _“The connection? How did you know?”  
“I treated him for rehab after an injury in prison. I was going through some old case notes yesterday looking for something else and the penny finally dropped. He talked about her, back then. I guess he didn’t think about the fact that a physical therapist also reported back, just like a psychologist does. He was … unguarded during our physical theray sessions. Either that or he _wanted _to be punished. Look, don’t tell her this ... but it was pretty sick, the stuff he said. He had a whole pile of nasty stuff in mind. It was …” he stops, shakes his head as if to try and rid his own mind of the debauchery. “Anyway … I went before the parole board when he came up and told them he couldn’t, under any circumstances, be released. I was extremely concerned about the stuff he was saying. Just tell her he’s dead and that she can get in touch with me outside of here if she wants to know more.”_

_“Okay. Thanks.”_

_His mind is whirring. He knows her walls will be up after this. It doesn’t matter how long he’s known her; she’ll hate that he saw her in a vulnerable state like this. And she’s not going to be receptive to talking about it._

_“And Nathan?” Jono says, his hand on his patient’s shoulder, “try and find out what’s causing the panic attacks. They’ll get worse if she doesn’t deal with it.”_

_“Yeah. Thinking about it, I’ve got a pretty good idea about that, actually.”  
Jono looks at him questioningly._

_“Let’s just say some girls can be bitches at any age,” says Nathan cryptically._

_They’re a few minutes into the trip home when he accepts that he’s going to have to at least start the conversation. She’s not said a word and her grip on the steering wheel is strained to say the least._

_“You sure you’re okay to drive?”_

_“I’m fine, Nate. I promise. I wouldn’t put you at risk.”_

_“That was kind of scary, Sawyer. How often does that happen?”_

_“Not very.”_

_“Any idea why?”  
“Guess I’m just a cot case,” she responds with the dry, dark humour he remembers from years ago._

_“Sawyer.”  
She’s stubbornly quiet._

_“Jono says phobias or extreme stress, like … maybe from … um … bullying.”_

_He spots that her grip on the wheel has tightened even more. Her knuckles are so white that the taut skin is almost transparent._

_“Sawyer, what’s going on? This is all about what Lindsey and Haley have been doing, isn’t it? It’s been way worse than …”_

_“Can we talk about something else?”_  
Her jaw is set and she’s not taking her eyes off the road for a second; he can see he’ll get nowhere. “Fine. But I’m watching you.”  
“Excellent,” she says drily. “Another stalker.”

_“You’re maddening; you know that?” That, at least, gets a small smile for her. “Alright then, let’s talk about your business plan.”_

_“You looked at it?” she asks, breaking her gaze from the road and stealing a quick look at him._

_“I said I would.”_

_“And?”  
“It’s good Peyton. It’s better than good. And to prove it … I’ve got you two investors.”_

_“Wh ... what?” she stammers, spinning to look at him for a second. “You got it like two days ago.”_

_“I guess I’m just that good,” he chuckles. “Better than good, even,” he adds with a satisfied smirk._

_“But that means you showed it to someone.” She flicks another look sideways at him. “_ Without telling me, _” she adds pointedly.  
“Calm down. It was just Brooke.”_

 _“Brooke?”_  
“Yup. Investor number one.”  
“I can’t let her do that. I’m already living with her rent free.”

_“She wants to. And it’s because she knows it’ll fly, Sawyer. It’s not charity. She also said something about you handing over designs to her back when she started, with nothing in return?  Something about having her over a barrel and … you could have made it really hard for her because she probably deserved it? But you didn’t.”_

_Peyton smiles a little in memory of that day. Brooke bursting into Lucas’ room. Finding them in the middle of a make out session. Hmm. Not such a happy thought. But signing away the rights on those designs? Hadn’t even had to think about it; she’d just wanted Brooke to have her shot._

_Nathan watches the smile come and go, replaced by a frown and sad eyes, and wonders what the memory was that caused it. Somehow, he’s sure it will have involved his dumbass brother._

_“Me, on the other hand,” he continues, “my investment is total charity.”_

_“You?”_

_“Me. Investor number two.”_

_“But Nathan …”  
“Listen. I got a big ‘shut up and go away’ pay out from the Dad of the drunk dick that caused my accident. A_ big _pay out. I’ve invested most of it but I’ve been keeping a bit back to do something fun with. And … this is the fun thing; interest free loan, so you can go make those big dreams come true.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“You can and you will. You’re helping me with chasing my dreams. Let me help you chase yours.”_

_His simple logic somehow gets to her, making more sense than anything she’s heard lately. And suddenly the thought of Brooke and Nate, her two oldest friends in the world, helping her get this fresh start seems like the best way in the world to do it. She’d do anything for them. She kind of_ has _done anything for them, over the years. Maybe it’s time she let them do anything for her too._

_“Wow.” Her grin is slow but once it gets going it’s the real deal. A Peyton Sawyer grin. It’s been a while since he saw that. “Am I really gonna do this?”  
“Yup. You are. So, let’s go see Brooke at her empty store and get this sorted.”_

_When Peyton and Nathan enter the store, which has been gutted of the café equipment but little else has happened yet, Brooke, in jeans and a tank top, covered in dust but looking wildly excited, welcomes them enthusiastically._

_“Nathan! No wheelchair! P. Sawyer! That business plan is amazing! Did Hotshot tell you I want to give you lots of startup dosh?”_

_“Brooke!” Peyton laughs, copying her friend’s exclamation point laden tone. “Not_ give _. Loan.”_

_“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that,” the brunette says with her head coyly tilted, “and I’m thinking loan schmoan.”_

_“No. It has to be. All official. Interest and all or I won’t take it.”_

_“Well ... it’s your label. You’re the boss.”_

_“Oh wow. It’s my label.”_

_“Oh P. Sawyer. Don’t cry.”_

_“Happy tears, B. Davis.”_

_The door chime tings and they turn to see Lucas walk in. He throws an accusatory look at his brother. Excellent. Haley’s clearly filled him in on all the sordid-seeming details of yesterday’s shower debacle._

_Noticing Peyton’s tears, the newly arrived blond automatically steps towards her but she turns her back and moves towards the rear of what will be Brooke’s retail space. Brooke ushers him out of the store, telling him to come back later if he needs to see her. He argues but when Nathan steps up and tells him to make himself scarce, he leaves, casting back a reproachful look at Peyton, leaving Nathan wondering if maybe some of his railing at his brother a few days ago, might have sunk in._

_“So, Davis, while we’re here,” Nathan starts, “I need your help with something else.”_

_“What’s that?” Brooke answers jauntily as she ponders her store walls and thinks about colour._

_“This one here,” he gestures to Peyton, “had a panic attack at my rehab session today. Full on, bug eyes, couldn’t breathe, had to blow in a bag panic attack. You know anything?”_

_“P?” Brooke asks, turning around and considering Peyton with a very concerned look._

_“Oh, my God. Will you two ever stop ganging up on me?”_

_“Not when it’s for your own good. What happened?”_

_Peyton’s button lipped so Nathan speaks, earning a hard glare from her._

_“Jono mentioned Psycho Derek.”_

_“But P., that’s all so long ago. I didn’t think that it ...”_

_“It doesn’t! It just … I just freaked out this one time. It doesn’t scare me, I promise.”_

_“Well it shouldn’t,” Nathan says, “because what Jono was going to say, before you got all freaky, was that that nut job’s dead. He wanted me to tell you. Said for you to call him if you wanted to know more.”_

_“How did Jono ...?”  
“Treated him in prison.”_

_“Oh. Well …”_

_“Tell me about this Jono,” says Brooke with interest, “he sounds kind of awesome.”_

_“He’s just Nate’s rehab guy.”_

_“Is he cute?”_

_Peyton shakes her head, rolling her eyes. She’s not doing this right now. But Brooke doesn’t give up that easily. “Nate,” she says, trying the ‘tag team against P. Sawyer’ approach, “is he cute?”_

_“How the hell should I know? He’s a dude. I don’t look at dudes.”_

_“Well how tall is he?”  
“I dunno. Tallish, I guess.” Peyton laughs at that; Nathan’s demurring. He’s stubbornly proud of being taller than most guys they know. She knows for a fact he’s supremely proud of the two-inch advantage he has over his brother._

_“P?”_

_“He’s probably 6’3”.”_

_Brooke looks knowingly at Nathan. “Right. So, he’s taller than Hotshot?”_

_“Yeah. Just, though,” she adds, playfully patting Nathan on his head as if consoling a child. He swats her hand away with a mock scowl._

_“And is he built?”_

_Nathan rolls his eyes at Brooke._

_“Yeah,” Peyton laughs, “I guess he’s fairly nicely put together.”_

_“And if he’s doing physical rehab with pro athletes he’s gotta be, like, pretty strong?”_

_“Yeah. He seems pretty strong.” She slides Nathan a cheeky look. “Stronger than a cripple on crutches, anyway.”_

_“You want my cash for your label or not, Sawyer?” he retorts. He’s loving the playful teasing. And they know it._

_“Hey! You brought me here under semi false pretences then got all ‘let’s play counsellor for your own good’ on me, so you’ve got nothing to complain about, buster!” Peyton bites back, laughing, poking him in his bicep._

_“Peyton,” Brooke asks, with grin at the easy teasing between her friends, “is he cute? Jono?”_

_“Brooke. Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute.”_

_“Alright. Is he handsome?”_

_“Actually, yeah,” she muses, thinking on that for a second. “He is kinda good looking. I hadn’t thought about it, but he is.”_

_“Brad Pitt good looking?”_

_“Hmm. No … more like a young Liam Neeson good looking. Rugged.”_

_“Ooo. Yummy. Sexy? Successful?”_

_“Yeah. Both.”_

_“More than Nathan?” Brooke teases lightly._

_“Hell yeah!”_

_“So … maybe you should take him up on that little chat about Psycho Derek?”_

_“Um … why?”_

_“A few tears. Big strong arms to hold you and help you through it. Could be the start of a beautiful thing, P. Sawyer.”_

_“Oh, for God’s sake B., stop with the matchmaking. And that whole ‘tears to get close’ is not the way I work …”_

_“Sawyer, you should though,” Nathan steps into the conversation._

_“Oh God, not you too!”_

_“No … not a date. I mean talk to him about Banks. It might help with the panic thing.”_

_“God Nate! They’re not_ about _him,” she protests vehemently. “They’re much more recent … only a few weeks.”_

_He stands, hands on hips, and she realises she’s given away something she really didn’t mean to. And that he’s very sneakily led her into doing so. She scowls at him. And he smirks victoriously._

_“A few weeks, huh? So, I was right ...?”_

_“Just … shut up. Leave it.”_

_“You still had a panic attack at the mention of his name. So, whatever else is happening, it’s affecting you in more ways. I think you should do this. Jono’s a good guy and it sounds like he can tell you what happened to Banks and that might help you really close this off.”_

_“I don’t have a problem with Psycho Derek!” she yells, looking to Brooke for help, but Brooke shrugs._

_“Sorry P. I agree with Dr Nate over here. I think you should. Mainly ‘cos Rehab Guy sounds seriously date worthy.”_

_“Oh, all right! Anything to get you two off my back.”_

_Brooke and Nathan share a smug look of accomplishment that has Peyton rolling her eyes at them. She not very subtly turns the conversation back to the label, and what her next steps will be. Maybe talking to the contractors who are working on the store for Brooke, and booking them to do her space next. The space she needs to find first. The three of them are sitting on the floor, backs against a work bench and the plans soon have Peyton having another fit of excited and ‘I don’t believe it’ tears, when the doorbell chimes. Assuming it’s his brother back for another attempt at speaking to the woman of the hour, Nathan yells over his shoulder._

_“I told you to back off, Lucas. Do I have to get up and beat some sense into you with my crutches?”_

_The voice that responds is familiar to them all. But it’s not Lucas._

_“Well, I don’t know what he’s done to deserve that threat, Nathan, but I hope the beating isn’t transferable to his nearest living relative.”_

_Brooke is on her feet in an instant and literally running across the room. “Karen!” she exclaims, arms extended._

_“Brooke!” Karen exclaims back, embracing the younger brunette tightly.  “I can see you’re doing great things with my old café space. How’s the work going?”_

_“Out the back’s finished and … so about a quarter done? Hopefully we’ll open just before Thanksgiving. Is that why you’re here, for Thanksgiving? You’re staying for a few weeks until then?”_

_“Yes, we’re staying until then, and that’s_ partly _the reason. And to catch our breath before the next leg of the Andy and Karen and Lily travelogue. And to see what you’re doing here with the café space. And to hire a new manager at Tric. And ... oh hell!” she exclaims with a very Karen laugh. “It’s just been too damn long since I saw home.”_

_Peyton has clambered to her feet, passed Nathan his crutches and helped him lever himself up. Karen approaches them, dispensing her maternal hugs to both._

_“Nathan,” she nods. “I heard you were in rehab. You’re out of the wheelchair?”_

_“Just in the last couple of days.”  
“I’m so pleased. It’s good to see you battling back,” she says, her maternal hand on his shoulder._

_She smiles genuinely at him, and he wonders if she doesn’t know what’s happening with him and Haley, or if she’s somehow managing to stay neutral until she knows all the facts. She gives him the very subtlest of nods - a gesture that has him convinced it’s the latter, for which he’s incredibly grateful - before she turns to the blonde, gently shaking her head in affection._

_“Peyton Sawyer. How long is it?” she asks as she pulls the blonde into her arms again._

_“It’s a long time, Karen. It’s so nice to see you.”  
“You too - except maybe for those red eyes. Do I take it that those tears are related to Nathan’s threats of bodily harm to my son?”_

_“Oh God, no! These are happy tears, Karen. I …” she looks at Brooke and Nathan. “Can I tell her, guys? Is that okay?” They murmur their consent. Of course, it’s okay. Peyton fills Karen in on her plans to establish her own label, and that Brooke and Nathan have both just offered to invest so she can get underway. Karen is beaming.  
“Peyton, that’s perfect for you. I just know you’ll be wildly successful.”_

_“Well, I know it’s going to take a lot of hard work and first I need to find a building or some space in one.”_

_A thoughtful look descends on Karen’s face and she reaches out to Peyton, placing her hand on her arm. “I might be able to help there. Look ... I have to go meet Lucas, and maybe warn him to beware of flailing crutches …” she says raising her eyebrow at Nathan, “but Peyton, can you meet me at Tric in a couple of hours?”_

_She agrees, of course, and Karen then leaves the three of them to their discussions._

_As Peyton and Nathan are leaving, she quietly asks him where she should drop him off, is he still going back to Skills’ or has he picked a hotel? But Brooke’s supersonic hearing is switched to hyper drive and, in a flash, she’s wedged herself between them and the door._

_“What’s going on?” she asks, her eyes swinging from Peyton to Nathan and back._

_Peyton flashes an apologetic look at Nathan, but he shrugs it off. It’s all going to come out anyway._

_“I’ve moved out of the house, Brooke,” he admits quietly._  
“But why?”  
“Haley asked me … well … told _me to go.”_

_“Nathan, that tells me nothing. What’s going on? You’re Naley. You’re always and forever. You can work it out, whatever it is.”_

_“I don’t think we can this time, Brooke. Haley’s convinced I’ve been cheating on her and she won’t be persuaded otherwise.”_

_“What would make her think that?”  
“She ... she came home to find Carrie in the shower with me, but I swear, it’s not what it …”_

_“Nathan!”_

_Brooke is aghast. And mad. She’s gone straight to ‘you bastard’ mode and Peyton can’t bear it._

_“Brooke! He didn’t! It’s not ...”_

_“That’s pretty damning,” the petite brunette fires back, leaving Nathan making the observation that she’s used the same word as Peyton did, but her demeanour couldn’t be more different._

_“I know Brooke. I know how it seems,” Nathan pleads. “And that’s exactly the word Peyton used too. But I didn’t. And I wouldn’t. I’m_ not _that guy anymore. I haven’t been since high school, for God’s sake! You_ know _that.”_

_Brooke looks from her best friend to the guy they’ve known for half their life, and back. From his pleading eyes to her angry ones._

_“P?”  
“He didn’t do it, Brooke. I know he didn’t.”_

_“How? How do you know?”_

_“Because I didn’t trust Carrie from the start. I got a weird vibe from her and I just know Nate’s not lying.”_

_“I want to believe that. I do. But ...”  
“Brooke, don’t you think if anyone could tell if he’s being truthful or not about this it would be me?” Nathan appreciates her backing, but can’t help but wince a little at the oblique reference to the way he used to be with her. It stills pains him to think about it. How he could’ve been such a dick to this amazing girl, he simply can not fathom._

_“I get that, Peyton. But …”_

_“But what?”_

_“I ... he’s been your rock these last few months. I just … I can’t help but wonder if you believe him because you_ need _to? So, you can keep having faith in him. You … you need him to be the good guy.”_

_As Brooke finishes her statement slash question, her phone buzzes. She pulls it from her pocket and looks at it, then at Nathan. He smiles drily._

_“It’s Haley, isn’t it?”_

_“It is. Look, Nathan ...”  
“It’s okay, Brooke. She needs her friends too. I get it. I just … you go be there for her. It’s fine. But I didn’t do it.”_

_Brooke picks up the call and moves to the back of the store space. Nathan and Peyton leave, waving their goodbyes at Brooke, who gestures to Peyton that she’ll call her later. As the duo are heading back to her car, his phone also buzzes. He takes a seat on a nearby bench and answers it._

_Peyton sits and waits, hearing just his side of the conversation while she checks her own phone and answers a few texts._

_“Oh. Hi.”_

_“Yeah. Crutches for a few weeks.”_

_“Umm yeah.”_

_“At Skills’ right now.”_

_“I think a hotel, then an apartment, I guess, once I can handle more than a few stairs.”_

_“What?”  
“Well, yeah.  But that doesn’t mean ...”_

_“Yeah. Of course, it would be helpful. But ...”_

_“No strings?”_

_“Alright. And ... thank you, I guess. It’s a help.”_

_He ends the call and just sits there staring at his phone for what seems a long time._

_“Nate? You alright?”_

_He turns to look at Peyton, with a completely bewildered look on his face._  
“That was Dan,” he states, still somewhat stunned.  
“I thought he was still in prison,” she poses with a little frown between her eyebrows.

_“He is. He got special permission to call me. God knows how but he knew Haley threw me out.”_

_“God, even behind bars that man’s got pull,” she sighs.  
“He … he just gave me the beach house.” Nathan’s looking at his phone with a bewildered look, as if he really can’t quite believe what just happened._

_“What?”_

_“He said I can stay at the beach house for as long as I need to and if Haley doesn’t change her mind and let me move back in, he’ll sign it over to me later, after a divorce, so it’s not part of any matrimonial property.”_

_“Divorce? Shit. It’s not going to get to that, Nate. But … I mean, it’s awesome to have a roof over your head but do you really want to give Dan any …”_  
“He said no strings. He swore there’d be no conditions.”  
“You believe him?”

_“I … I think I do,” he says, obviously surprising himself._

_“So ... I guess that’s where I’m dropping you off, huh?”_

_“I guess. Can we stop by Skills’ and get my stuff?”  
“Sure. By the time we do that, and I drop you off, it’ll be about the time Karen wants me to meet her at Tric.”_

_“Wonder what she’s got in mind?”  
“Who knows,” she smiles, dragging her hand through her hair. “But there’s only one way to find out, right? Let’s go 23, time to get you to your new place.”_

_He stops her as she goes to stand, wrapping his palm and fingers around her wrist and looking up at her._

_“Peyt? Thanks. For everything. But especially for backing me in there ... with Brooke.”_

_“She doesn’t believe you,” she says, catching and holding his gaze. “You know that, right?”_

_“Yeah. I know. But you tried. And … I do get it. Why people won’t believe me. Judging from the daggers, I know for sure my brother doesn’t.”_

_“Well, screw them. And screw_ him _. He’s the last person to be commenting on fidelity. That’s what I say. And Brooke …”_

_“What does that mean?” he asks pointedly. “Lucas and fidelity? And don’t mess up your own thing with Brooke for me.”_

_“I won’t. We’ll agree to disagree on this. She’ll be there for Hales. I’ll be there for you. And B and I will have a ‘no discussion’ zone in the middle.”_

_“That’ll work?”_

_“Hell yeah. Now chop chop! Let’s get going. The Comet awaits.”_

_“I think that car just about knows the way to the beach house on its own,” he chuckles._

_“I think you might be right. History, huh?”_

_It’s not until she’s lugged his stuff up the stairs and inside the beach house’s front door, while he struggles with his crutches, and has driven off, waving cheerily, that he realises she never answered his question about her Lucas and fidelity remark. He has the feeling this was not just a reference to the infamous high school love triangle._

_Peyton arrives at Tric to find Karen behind the bar, pouring herself a juice._

_“Care to join me, Peyton?” the older woman offers._

_“That’d be great, thanks, Karen, I’m parched.”_

_“Busy couple of hours?”  
“Yeah. Just helped Nathan pick up his stuff at Skills’ and take it to the beach house.”_

_“Oh, yes,” Karen replies cautiously. “I just ... Lucas was telling me the situation earlier today. I really don’t know what to think.”_

_Peyton sighs, drags her hand through her wind-tangled hair (she seems to be doing that a lot, lately) and takes a welcome sip from the cold juice. “It’s going to get messy, Karen. That’s what I think.”_

_“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what Lucas thinks.”  
“That Nathan is a lying, cheating scumbag who’s reverted to type and been screwing around on Lucas’ best friend and now he’s been caught and he’ll get his just desserts?”_

_“Almost word perfect. You certainly know the way my boy thinks.” Karen’s smile is wry._

_“Well, I used to,” she laughs drily. “Not so much these days.”_

_“Care to elaborate?”_

_Karen really doesn’t know what’s going on, but when she asked Lucas about Peyton just a short while ago, he shot her down hard and fast._

_“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Karen. There’s enough drama flying around right now.”_

_“Peyton, I love Haley like my own, you know that. I love all you three girls like my daughters, you and Brooke and Haley. I … well, I know how far Nathan has come over the years but I also know she wouldn’t make up what she saw.”_

_“She didn’t,” Peyton concedes. “She saw it. But there’s more to it.”_

_“Naked in the shower with the housekeeper is a little hard to explain away.”_

_“I know. But I believe Nathan,” Peyton speaks quietly, but firmly. She’s determined and Karen can see that she truly believes she’s right._

_“What exactly is it that you believe?” the older woman asks with genuine interest._

_“He was in the shower. She got in behind him. He thought it was Haley. He lost his footing and slipped and she fell on him; that’s when he saw it was Carrie. It was just the day after he got out of the wheelchair onto crutches. I know exactly what his balance was like because I was at that rehab session. It wasn’t great; he’s still quite wobbly. Plus … I dunno, Karen ... I got a real weird feeling about Carrie from the start.”_

_“And with your history with Nathan, you still believe him?”_

_“I do.”_

_“Peyton, can I ask you something?”_

_“Sure. Anything.”_  
“You and Nathan …?”  
“No,” she answers firmly, shaking her head, looking Karen straight in the eye. “I’ve been driving him to rehab while I’ve been working out my next steps, writing my business plan. We’ve become close, that’s true. But that’s it. No clandestine affair, nothing romantic. I would never do that to Haley or to Nathan, despite what Lin … despite what anyone might think.”

_“Lindsey,” Karen says with a nod. “You were going to say Lindsey.”_

_“I’m sorry, Karen. I know she’s going to be your daughter-in-law; I didn’t mean ...”_

_“My daughter-in-law? Really? You think that?”_

_“Well … yeah.” Peyton looks at Karen and realises she doesn’t_ know. _What the hell is going on that Lucas hasn’t told his mother he’s asked Lindsey to marry him? She tries to cover. “Don’t you, Karen?”_

_“I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet.”_

_“Oh, my God! Really? But Lucas has been with her for what? Two years?”_

_“This is my first trip back to the States in that time though. I’ve talked to them both on Skype, of course.”_

_“So, then you’ve met in a way. You must have a sense of her ... them …”_

_“I suppose so. But those gadgets … it’s not real, is it?” Karen explains. “The sense you get? If you don’t already know the person they seem … cool, distant. I … I just always thought Lucas and you…”_

_“Karen,” she says gently. “I think it would be best if you didn’t finish that thought. Let’s leave the past where it belongs.”_

_Karen studies Peyton’s face thoughtfully and sees everything that she first saw when a younger, less composed but just as noble Peyton stood aside and let Lucas be happy with Brooke. The young woman in front of her is much better at hiding her sadness, her face much more controlled and Karen knows most people wouldn’t see how deep her heartbreak runs. But Karen Roe knows this girl; Peyton’s so like Karen was at that age._

_Karen reaches across the bar and places her hand on Peyton’s._

_“Alright. But for the record, you don’t fool me.”_

_“I know. I never could get one over on you,” Peyton smiles. “You’re all seeing, all knowing Karen Roe. But he’s made his choice. It’s time to move on. Concentrate on the rest of my life. And for now, that means my soon to be business.”  
“And on that note, follow me, young lady.”_

_Karen leads Peyton to a large, industrial looking door, which she slides open, then through into a high ceilinged, exposed brick space with just a few storage boxes, and a lot of cobwebs, on show._

_“Wow! This space is amazing, Karen. How did I not know this was here? I spent hours in this place back in high school!”_

_“Well, that would be because I didn’t have this space then, and it was walled up. I knew you’d see what this could be too! And it’s … yours, if you want it.”_

_“What!?”_

_“For your label. I think it’s big enough to put a recording studio in, maybe over there … with the rest in office space, maybe a small meeting room. There’s a small kitchen and bathroom at the back. They’ll need renovating but the plumbing is there, and the wiring is all okay, I think. You should get it checked to be sure though.”_

_“Karen … I can’t …”_

_“You can. And you will. As long as it’s suitable for you.”_

_“It’s ... it’s kind of perfect, actually. I can see exactly how it could be.”  
Peyton stands, turns slowly, taking in the space with ideas flowing through her mind. Then she halts and a worried look descends on her. _

_“What sort of rent do you think?”_

_“I’m thinking somewhere in the vicinity of zero,” Karen says with a smile playing about her lips._

_“Karen! No. I really can’t.”_

_“Peyton. Do you remember me telling you, a long, long time ago when you came to me with the idea for an all ages night, that it was a great idea and I knew you’d be worth the risk? Well you were_ ; _Tric is doing incredibly well to this day. And there simply wouldn’t be a Tric without you. What you did to get it off the ground back in high school really set the tone and established the business. Tric owes you._ I _owe you. This is just repaying a debt. Rent free.”_

_“I’m sorry, but I won’t …”_

_“A year then? Can we agree on rent free for a year, then we can review, and you can start paying rent if you’re in a position to do so? And we both know you will be.”_

_“On one condition.”_

_“Which is?” Karen asks with a raised brow and an amused twitch to her lips.  
“I’ll also keep an eye on Tric for you. You said you were going to hire a new manager? I’ll help you hire them, train them, and I’ll keep an eye on them and lend a hand if they need it, until they’re on their feet. I can manage that transition while construction and stuff happens in here, until I’m ready to get going for real.”_

_Karen studies her carefully, then smiles and issues a counteroffer._

_“Lend a hand in a purely advisory capacity? No hands on behind the bar, lugging kegs or scrubbing floors while you’re building your label?”_

_“Promise,” Peyton grins.  
“Then we have a deal, Miss Sawyer.”_

_“Karen. Thank you. This really is too much but ...”  
“Nonsense; it’s just enough. Now give me a hug to seal the deal.”_

_As they’re parting, a voice from the doorway intervenes._

_“Mom? What’s up? Why did you want me to meet you there? We were just together at lunch. Oh … Peyton. Hi.”_

_“Hi Lucas,” she replies carefully. “So … Karen, thanks again. I should um … get going.”_

_Karen is not at all immune to the sudden change in Peyton’s body language, which has gone from relaxed to tense, nor to her immediate need to leave._

_“Alright, sweetie. I’ll get some papers drawn up and be in touch in a few days, okay?”_

_“Sure. That’s a great idea. Will you let me share any legal costs?”_

_“Only if you’re going to absolutely insist.”_

_“You know I am.”_

_“Okay. I won’t fight you on that. Oh. One more thing, I know you have two investors. Do you need more? I’d be happy to talk to Andy. I think he’d be very interested.”_

_“Karen, thank you, that’s so kind,” Peyton responds genuinely, “but I think I’m covered. And you’re doing so much already.”_

_“You’re sure?” Karen presses._

_“Absolutely.”_

_“Alright. I’ll be in touch then, honey.”_

_Peyton leaves, giving Lucas a wide berth and a slightly awkward wave as she passes. Both do not go unnoticed by the older woman in the room._

_“What’s going on, Mom?”  
“I’m giving Peyton this space for her label.”_

_“Her ... her label?” he asks uncertainly.  
“Yes, Lucas. Her label. The record label she’s starting. She has a business plan, she has investors and now she has space.”_

_“Oh ... I didn’t …”_

_“You didn’t know about her plans?” she asks with a telling look._  
“Um … no.”  
“That seems strange. I’ve been back just a few hours and I know. I thought with Peyton being back in town these last months you two would have become closer again.”

_“Mom. I have a fiancée,” he replies petulantly. It’s a word he drops into the conversation at every opportunity, no matter who he’s talking to. A behaviour now so established that it’s caught him out with his own mother._

_“You have a_ what _?” Karen demands, hands on hips, face aghast._

_“I ... I asked Lindsey to marry me a few weeks ago.”_

_“So, that’s what Pey … a few_ weeks _ago and you’re just telling me this_ now _? Lucas, you collected me from the airport this morning, we just had lunch and you didn’t mention it until now? I … we’ve spoken several times in the last few weeks. Why wouldn’t you tell me this?”_  
  
“Well maybe because I knew I’d get this sort of reaction!” he argues, his hackles raised. “Where’s the congratulations, Mom?”

 _“We will celebrate when Lindsey is back, of course. And if she makes you happy, then I’m happy. But for now … we were talking about Peyton.”_  
“Ohmigod! Peyton, Peyton, Peyton!  When will you people stop … fiancée, remember!”  
“Yes, Lucas. I’m well aware … now,” Karen says, arms crossed _. “But I didn’t say_ anything _about you and Peyton being a couple. I’d just have thought you’d be friends, or at least know enough about each other’s lives to know about something this big. A business venture; an exciting business venture that will be dream come true for her ...”_

 _“We_ are _friends,” he argues weakly, the talk of dreams affecting him more than he can admit, even to himself._

_“Clearly not. Or not good ones, at least. That’s a shame, Lucas. She’s an amazing woman. And from what I’ve seen today, a very good friend to have on your side.”_

_“You don’t understand, Mom.”_

_“I think I do.”  
“You haven’t been here.”_

_“No. But I know you and I know Peyton. You’re my son, Lucas, and I will always love you. But I’d put money on the fact that your situation with Peyton is down to you being proud and stubborn and maybe …”_

_“Maybe?”  
“Your girlfriend - sorry, your _fiancée _\- being insecure and threatened?”_

_“Lindsey’s great, Mom. She loves me.”_

_“I’m sure she is. And I’m sure she does. I’m looking forward to meeting her properly tomorrow when she gets back from New York. But I don’t understand why you’d let things be like this with Peyton. You’ve been through so much together and her friendship used to be one of the most important things in the world to you.”_

_“I don’t want to discuss this, Mom,” he says firmly. “Why did you want me to come here?”_

_“Just to let you know about the space for Peyton. I’ll have it drawn up legally. A year rent free then review. She can make whatever renovations she requires.”_

_“That’s awfully generous of you,” he snipes._

_“And yet you didn’t have anything to say about the even more generous deal I struck with Brooke? As I said to Peyton, Tric wouldn’t exist without her. She’s going to keep an eye on it for me as a thank you, back up the new manager I’m hiring over the next few weeks. That will free you up from having to watch it. Maybe that writer’s block of yours might benefit as a result.”_

_“My writer’s block is completely gone, thank you very much,” he counters defiantly. “It has been for a few months. Do you really think this … thing … with Peyton is a good idea?”_

_“Lucas, do you have a problem with this?”_

_“I just … I think ... this could be difficult …”_

_“Lucas, this is still_ my _business and_ my _property,” Karen says firmly. “I have faith in Peyton’s vision. What’s the difficulty?”_

_“I …”_

_“I see,” his Mom interrupts knowingly. “You find it hard seeing her. Well, maybe you need to think about why that is.”_

_“No! It’s not that. It’s … Linds …”_

_“Okay, now I really do see. You find it hard seeing Peyton_ and _Lindsey has issues with Peyton’s presence because of that. Lindsey’s a smart woman.”_

_“What is that supposed to mean?”_

_Karen pats his stubbled cheek and walks past him._

_“You’ll figure it out, my boy. The way you’re going it’ll possibly be too late, but you’ll work it out. And I’m sorry if it causes you difficulties, but I’ve made an offer to Peyton that I won’t rescind. I think her label is destined to be truly great and if this is the way I can be a small part of her greatness, then I’ll take that opportunity.”_

_As Karen nears the doorway, another thought occurs to her and she turns back to face her son. His face is frozen, and she, being the intuitive woman that she is, has no doubt that her words of dreams and greatness have struck home. Of course, she knows their significance; she’s read her son’s book._

_“Lucas … how long did you say your writer’s block’s been gone for?”_

_“A few months. Why?”_

_“Hmm,” his mother muses, “so right about the time a certain someone came back to town?”_

_And she’s gone, leaving him, hands pushed down into pockets and shoulders hunched, feeling both angry and sad. Of course, he’d made the connection. But he certainly didn’t need anyone else to. It starts him thinking about Peyton though, like he needs any prompt for that, and he recalls her tears at what is in the process of becoming Brooke’s latest Clothes over Bros store. And the combination of the tears and not knowing about this massive new thing in her life, her own label, have him challenging his own unspoken ‘stay away’ policy. Of course, he was staying away from her. Of course, he was avoiding her. But maybe his mother is right. They are … were … can be friends. Can’t they?_

_Later, at the home she shares with Brooke, Peyton is getting ready for her meeting with Jono, having called him and arranged for him to come to the house. Though she’s almost certain it won’t happen again, she’s not risking going out and having another panic attack in public, and he had explained to her that the drive wasn’t as far for him as she might have thought as he lived a good 45-minute drive out of Jacksonville, in the direction of Tree Hill, anyway. Though she knows Psycho Derek is not the root cause behind the attacks, it is true that it was the mention of him that set the last one off. She’s sure it’s that she was wound up and ready to ‘go off’ and it was just the last little straw … but anyway, it can’t do any harm. And it will get Brooke off her back._

_There’s a knock at the door and Brooke yells that she’ll get it, expecting it to be the apparently handsome Jono, and keen to get her first look at this guy. It’s not him and the new arrival has already entered, closing the door behind him.  Sometimes this open-door policy is not such a good idea, she thinks._

_“Lucas. What are you doing here?” she asks, arms akimbo, foot tapping, suspicion writ on her beautiful face._

_“I ... I wanted to check Peyton’s okay,” he almost mumbles. “She seemed upset today.”_

_“She’s fine.” She stands, arms crossed on her chest, unimpressed with Lucas’ appearance here._

_“Brooke.”_

_“Lucas. You need to leave her alone.”_

_“She’s my …”  
“Do not give me the she’s my friend crap. Just let her go. Let her move on. You told her to move on and you need to give her the space to do it. She’s trying to. In fact …” she pauses as she has an idea._

_Brooke can’t help but meddle. She knows she shouldn’t, but damn she’s so sick of watching Lucas pretend to be concerned about Peyton when he must know damn well_ he’s _the problem with his hot and cold act, and his deliberately flaunting his relationship with Lindsey under Peyton’s nose. Last time they were all together he barely touched Lindsey unless he knew Peyton was watching, then he’d be all over her._

_“In fact, Lucas,” she continues sweetly, “she’s getting ready to … hook up with someone now, so she really doesn’t have time for your false pleasantries anyway.”_

_“She is?” He’s so shocked (visibly so, Brooke notes) that he doesn’t even give Brooke a hard time about her accusation regarding his behaviour._

_“Yes. So, you need to go.”_

_There’s a second knock at the door, bringing a keen smile to Brooke’s lips._

_“Oh,” she says sweetly, “that’ll be Jono now.”_

_She opens the door, hoping that Jono lives up to the hype. It’s about time Lucas got a sharp reminder that her best friend is a gorgeous girl who could have any guy she wants. Almost any guy. She’s very pleased to see that the man at the door is more than up to the task of giving Lucas Scott a run for his money. Physically, he’s as she’s heard. But he has that intangible masculine charisma combined with a subtle self-assurance yet somehow gentle manner, that you can’t explain. It makes girls turn into liquid mush. And judging from the look on his face and the tension in his shoulders, it makes boys like Lucas Scott turn into jealous little bitches._

_“Jono? Come on in. I’m Brooke, Peyton’s roomie. She won’t be long. Oh. This is Lucas. He was just leaving.”_

_“It’s okay, Brooke,” he says somewhat smugly. “I have a few minutes.”_

_She scowls at him and his barely disguised green-eyed ‘protect Peyton’ mode, but doesn’t argue. As the guys are shaking hands, Lucas scoping Jono out quite unsubtly, Peyton emerges from her room, looking casually elegant in a shortish skirt, a funky yet sophisticated top and bare feet with dark blue painted toenails. Her own unique mix of upmarket funk and down-home girl next door._

_“Lucas, you’re here to see Brooke?” she starts before she sees her guest. “Oh! Hey, Jono.”_

_“Peyton. You look great. Completely recovered from … before?”_

_“Yeah. Thanks. You were awesome. So, it’s such a nice night, I thought we could just sit out on the patio and have a couple of beers and chat? Maybe order in or pop out somewhere casual later if we feel like it?”_

_“Sounds perfect.”_

_“Did you meet Brooke and Lucas?”_

_“I did,” he assures her._

_“Great! Well … let’s head out and leave them to it.”_

_She grabs a couple of beers from the fridge and they head outside into the warm evening. As soon as they’re out of hearing, Lucas turns to Brooke._

_“Who’s he?”_

_“Lucas,” she answers in an admonishing tone, “_ he _is none of your business.”_

_“But ...”  
“No buts. You have a fiancée, remember. You don’t get to use that green-eyed tone of voice to ask about the men Peyton sees.”_

_“Slightly mixed metaphor there, Pretty Girl.”  
“Don’t care. You know what I mean.”_

_Peyton’s voice floats in through the open window, her perfectly timed words making Lucas gulp._

_“Yeah, he did. He … wrecked my head for a long time, but I’m okay now, really.”_

_Brooke raises her eyebrow at Lucas. She knows, of course, that the conversation is about that psycho stalker, but she’s also very aware how it could sound to the elder of the Scott boys._

_“Who is this guy? Is she seeing him? How long?”_

_Brooke smiles internally at Lucas’ volley of questions; if it wasn’t so wrong, it would be funny._

_“Um … two or three times a week for a couple of months?”  It’s not a lie. Exactly._

_“That long?” he asks, his voice a little pitchy. “That sounds … serious.”_

_Peyton’s voice wafts in again. “Yeah … but it’s definitely time to move on, right?”_

_Brooke smiles and gestures to the window. “Well, there you have it Broody. She’s_ moving on _. Just like you told her to.”_

_“But is he okay? Is he good …”  
“Seriously? Good enough for her?” she questions as she begins herding him towards the front door._

_“He could be a psycho! He could hurt her!”  
“You mean, more than you did?” she asks. “Or just the _same _amount that you did?_ Just enough _to break her?”_

 _“That’s not fair, Brooke.”  
“You’re right. What you’ve been doing to her is anything but fair. But it _is _true. All this protective bullshit, Lucas? So not right when you hurt her more than anyone. Leave it. This guy is not a psycho.”_

_“How can you know that?”  
“Because she met him through Nathan. He’s been well and truly vetted by someone that cares about her and wouldn’t put her in danger.”_

_“Through Nathan?”_

_“Yes.”  
“Right.”_

_He’s out the door in a flash, leaving Brooke scrambling for her phone to call the younger Scott._

_“Nathan Scott.”_

_“Incoming brother!” she squawks.  
“Brooke? What? What are you talking about, Davis?”_

_“Lucas just left here,” she rushes out. “He called in to check-up on Peyton.”_

_He can virtually hear the air quotes around ‘check-up’._

_“Dick.”_

_“Jono’s here. Very handsome,” she says slyly._

_Nathan Scott has known Brooke Davis a very long time. He knows a hint when hears it._

_“And?”  
“I … may have given your big brother the impression Jono and Peyton are dating.”_

_“Davis?”  
“Alright. I did give him that impression.”_

_“And?”  
“He got all ‘is he good enough for her’ on me.”_

_“Like I said. He’s a dick.”_

_“So, I … maybe said he was above board and vetted ‘cos she met him through you?”_

_“Excellent. Thanks Brooke. Not.”_

_“And I suspect he’s on his way to grill you,” she continues._

_“I can deal with him. It’ll take him a while to find me anyway.”_

_“How come?”  
“Not at the house, remember?”_

_“Oh right. Nathan, look, I … Haley … well ...”  
“Just leave it Brooke. Now’s not the time.”_

_Lucas turns up at the beach house surprisingly quickly to find his younger brother waiting by the front door, resting on his crutches, as if he hadn’t a care in the world._

_“Luke. You were faster than I expected,” he drawls as he moves to lean against the door frame.  
“What? How did ...? Right … _of course, _Brooke would warn you. Look ... this guy …”_

_“Luke, she’s not yours to protect. That was your choice. So, leave it.”_

_“But …”  
“No, Luke! You need to sort out the way your fiancée treats Sawyer before you get all man in tights and cape about any guy she’s seeing, and … oh yeah … how about the way you treat her too ...”_

_“But you know him?”_

_“Yeah.”  
Lucas waits, determined to get more information._

_“Oh, for God’s sake,” Nathan declares when it becomes clear his brother isn’t going to leave. “He’s a good guy.”_

_“How do you know him?”  
“None of your business.”_

_“Nathan!”  
“He’s my rehab therapist, alright!?”_

_“This is a bad idea,” Lucas remarks, though he’s more than a little relieved that the ‘two or three times a week for a few months’ can be explained by his brother’s rehab appointments. He hopes._

_“For who? You? ‘Cos I don’t see how it’s bad for her.”_

_Nathan has to admit he’s enjoying watching his brother squirm. Maybe it’s to do with how little support he’s had from the blond Scott over the last couple of days, ie none. Not a single phone call. Before even hearing it, Luke has been far too willing to dismiss Nathan’s side of the incident involving Carrie._

_“You know what, Luke? Sawyer described him as taller, stronger, better looking, more successful and sexier than me. And you know what else? Given that I am more of all of those things than you are, even when I’m_ not _walking properly, that makes him an even better option for her than you ever were. Why would it be a bad idea?”_

_“Then why was she crying in Brooke’s store today?” Lucas fires at him._

_“I believe she called them happy tears when your Mom asked her the same thing.”_

_“That’s bullshit!” Lucas cries, his hands coming up in a doubting gesture.  
“No it’s not! She’d just got her investors. She was bit overcome, that’s all.”_

_“Investors? Is this the label my Mom was talking about?”  
“I told you all the other day!” Nathan exclaims. “In my kitchen, remember? She’s been working on plans. _Business _plans. She’s got a kickass plan for her label and now she’s got the start up cash. Next is the space. It sounds like Karen might have sorted that, but I haven’t heard the detail from Sawyer yet. Like I said; happy tears. She’s got her life back on track. Now …” he continues, standing forward and raising his hand to emphasise his next words, “leave her, and her love life, alone._ You’re _getting married and_ you _told her to move on because you have, remember?”_

_He underlines his point with a couple of quick finger jabs in Lucas’ chest._

_“How … what the … she told you about that?” Lucas asks, stepping back to avoid that probing finger. “I mean … I get that she might tell Brooke, but …”  
“You really think she’d do that?” Nathan asks. “She didn’t rat you out, though she damn well should have when you’ve been such a jerk. She didn’t tell either of us, or anyone else as far as I know.”_

_“Then how the hell did you ...?”_

_Nathan takes a moment to eye his brother and almost wishes he could feel sorry for him, but he can’t bring himself to feel anything but something that feels a lot like scorn._

_“Baby monitor,” he eventually says._  
“Baby monitor?”  
“You’re familiar with the concept? Small device? Allows you to hear what’s going on in another room?”

 _“Of course. I … oh …” Lucas looks stricken.  
“Yeah. _Oh. _Haley’s birthday party. Just last month. You followed Peyton upstairs when she was tending to Taylor’s rugrat, and you had a go at her.”_

 _“No! I … we had a …”  
“You had a go at her,” Nathan repeats firmly. “In fact, you were _vicious _. And cold. And she didn’t even bite back.”_

_“And you and Brooke heard on the baby monitor?” Lucas asks with a worried look.  
“Worse than that, you moron. Half the room heard. You ever wonder why right about then Skills started spending a lot less time around you? Why Brooke kept her distance? Why Mouth suddenly wasn’t quite so available? I think only Haley wasn’t totally persuaded of what an ass you were being. After that, you didn’t deserve for Sawyer to even speak to you.”_

_“Who the hell are you to lecture me?” Lucas explodes in frustration. “Has it escaped your notice that your wife has kicked you out because you screwed around on her?”_

_“No. My wife kicked me out because she_ thinks _I screwed around on her,” Nathan corrects him. “I didn’t.”  
“You know I won’t be asking you to be my Best Man because of this? I can’t have the guy that fucked around on my best friend stand up for me when I say I do.”_

 _“You are_ such _a dick, Lucas. I didn’t fucking do it! And you know what? You’ll realise that’s the truth at some point and then maybe you’ll get it. But right now? I wouldn’t be your Best Man if you begged. Firstly, because you’ve so obviously picked the wrong girl and I can’t support that, and secondly because, from what I hear,” he looks unflinchingly into his brother’s face as he continues, “you’re a hypocrite; you’re the last person to get all judgemental to me about fidelity.”_

_“What?” Lucas gasps, shock all over his face._

_“You heard me,” Nathan says, playing it cool. He knows the bunny in the headlights look on his brother’s face and he’s pretty sure if he holds off and waits, and makes out like he knows, the ‘bunny’ will spill the beans. Or the carrots. Or whatever._

_“What did she tell you?”_

_“Sawyer? Well, let me see, it was right about when …”  
“It was _nothing _!_ It _meant_ nothing!”

 _“You’re quite het up there, Lucas,” Nathan smirks. “Doesn’t_ seem _like it was nothing. And I know it wasn’t nothing to her.”_

_“It was just a couple of kisses. It was … it was a mistake. It meant nothing.”_

_Nathan puts it together in an instant. A week or so after Haley’s birthday party, two or three weeks ago now, Sawyer had insisted on going back to the car after she’d helped him into the rehab clinic. She’d mumbled something about having a headache, and maybe she’d go for a walk to try and clear it. When he’d wheeled himself out to the car after a couple of hours of flogging himself in the session, she was slumped over the steering wheel, ashen-faced and red-eyed. He’d stupidly let her fob him off with the headache story because he was absolutely exhausted. Neither of them had spoken the whole trip home. Later that day Haley burst through the door full of excitement; Lucas and Lindsey had gotten engaged the night before._

_Of course, he’d made the connection right away; that’s why Sawyer had been such a freaking mess that morning. He’d debated calling her, or turning up on her doorstep. But … he couldn’t drive yet. And he doubted that she’d pick up a call from him; she’d know as soon as she saw his caller ID that he was checking up on her. She’d realise he’d caught up with the news. She’d screen him out so she didn’t have to pretend to be okay._

_He’d decided he’d just wait until the next rehab drive. By then, of course, she’d had the armour on and drawbridge raised and the walls well and truly manned. All he could do was, before they got back in the Range Rover after the session, haul her down to his level and kiss her temple, and tell that_ he _didn’t deserve her anyway. So that’s what he’d done. She’d fobbed him off, of course, but before she’d driven off after dropping him home, she’d called his name and, when he’d turned, she’d mouthed_ thank you _to him._

_All very well, but he’d never stopped to wonder about how Peyton had known Lucas and Lindsey were engaged first thing the day after it happened, when even Haley hadn’t known until later that afternoon. That connection he makes right now, looking at his sorry ass of a brother._

_“You selfish bastard,” he says to Lucas, his voice cold and hard._

_“I’m selfish?”_

_“You kissed her then went and proposed to Lindsey, didn’t you?”_

_“You already knew that.”_  
“Nope. I didn’t. I just put it together right now.”  
“H ... how?” Lucas stammers, completely flummoxed as to how this conversation is happening.  
“I told her today that you didn’t believe me about that psycho bitch Carrie, and she slipped up; made a remark about you and fidelity but she fobbed me off when I pressed her on it. She never told me about you kissing her then stabbing her in the back. She’s never told anyone as far as I know. I just dangled a hint in front of you and you bit. I guess the guilt made you slip up.”  
“Guilt? She kissed me first!”

_“Oh, this’ll be good!” Nathan laughs drily, rolling his eyes. “Tell me how the big bad Sawyer, who’s what? Two thirds your size? How she trapped you and held you down and made you kiss her back!”_

_“I … I …”  
“What did you do, Lucas?” he asks, his voice heavy with resignation and disappointment._

_And maybe it was the guilt weighing so heavily on him, or maybe he knew he had Nathan’s wrath coming, but Lucas told him; told him about seeking her out when he knew she’d be home alone, asking her if she had an alarm in her head that went off whenever he was happy with someone else, scoffed at her when she looked at him teary-eyed and said she had so many regrets, that she missed him every day, then stood still and let her get closer, knowing she was going to kiss him, knowing he should stop her but just … transfixed, and needing to feel it, needing to know for sure that there was no longer anything there. And how that had backfired because the second her perfect lips touched his, time had stood still and he’d been completely overwhelmed and when she’d pulled away, he’d hauled her back and kissed her until he couldn’t breathe anymore. And then, with quiet certainty, she’d breathed the words that he refused to believe;_ you still love me _. And he’d run, spouting lame words about needing to see Lindsey._

_“How the hell do you get from a kiss that stops the clocks to proposing to someone else?” Nathan ask when Lucas has stopped spewing out his tale of woe._

_“I love Lindsey. I’m happy with Lindsey. She’s the one for me; Lindsey.”_  
“Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey! Keep saying her name often enough and you’ll start to believe it, huh?”  
“What? No! I love …”  
“Yup. You love Lindsey. Good for you. Now get the fuck off my porch and don’t come back.”

_“Wh … what?”_

_“You’re being a dick. You’re being a cold, selfish bastard and I’m not talking about your parentage when I call you that. Alarm bells in_ her _head? Jesus, Luke why the hell aren’t they ringing in yours? You kissed her back! You’ve absolutely broken her down, and all because you’re on some sick and twisted mission to get revenge, or prove you don’t need her, or prove she was wrong to say someday to you. But you know what? You’re doing this all wrong, Luke, and I hope_ I’m _wrong, for your sake, but I really think it’s all gonna blow up in your face.”_

 _“What? Like your life has?”  
“Being apart from the one you love? Yeah, probably a lot like that actually! You’ll marry Lindsey and _still _not be with the one you really want. The thing is, what’ll keep_ me _warm at night is the truth and the fact that I know I’m in the right. You? You’ve only got Lindsey to keep you warm at night. You know what her nickname is around here? Ice Princess. Good luck keeping warm with that.”_

_“Why do you have so much trouble with me being happy with Lindsey?”_

_“Because to get to where you_ think _you’re happy, you’ve repeatedly hurt one of the best girls in the world. Not because you genuinely love Lindsey and not Sawyer, or even that you love Lindsey more than Sawyer, but because you’re scared of how much you_ do _love Sawyer and you’re in total denial. And you’re proud. And you’re exacting revenge. And the thing is? We can_ all _see it. I see it. Brooke sees it. Haley won’t admit it but she sees it. And the funniest thing is that Lindsey sees it too; that’s why she’s fine with one of your high school exes but she’s been such a bitch to the other. The only one that doesn’t see it, is you. So, you know what? Go be blind with your precious fiancée. Let her keep your body warm at night, Luke, ‘cos it seems there’s no fucking hope for your ice-cold heart. And leave Sawyer the hell alone, or I’ll ...”_

_“You’ll what? Beat me with your crutches?” Lucas spits at him._

_“There’s no need for me to threaten you with violence, big brother,” Nathan says calmly, surely. “You know, I seem to recall your fiancée looked pretty damned shocked when she found out, in my kitchen, that you’d proposed to Peyton the night before you got your book deal. If you didn’t tell her about that back when your relationship was purely professional, or at any time in the last couple of years, then it’s a safe bet that you haven’t told Lindsey about the kisses that happened just a few minutes before you proposed to her.”_

_“You … you wouldn’t …you wouldn’t tell Lindsey about that or the ring or … dammit!”_

_Nathan can see Lucas mentally kicking himself; it was like his brain was disengaged and his mouth was running away from him and he just couldn’t stop it._

_“The ring?” Nathan asks with his eyebrow cocked. “What about the ring?”_

_Lucas doesn’t reply, but drags the toe of one boot across the other, looking remarkably like the gauche, nervy kid he’d been at sixteen._

_“My God,” says Nathan, realisation dawning. “You idiot. You gave her Peyton’s ring?”_

_“_ Keith’s _ring,” corrects his brother, almost but not quite defiantly._

_“Which you gave to Peyton.”  
“No, I didn’t! She said no to that ring; she never accepted it! She never even took it out of the box!”_

_“Why are you telling me this stuff? Deep down do you need me to step in and tell you what the right thing to do is? Do you subconsciously want someone else to sort out the messes you’ve made? That you k_ eep _making?”  
“I didn’t _mean _to tell you! I thought you already knew!”_

_“How could I possibly know what ring you proposed to Lindsey with? Between me being in rehab and her being in New York most of the time lately, I haven’t even seen her in the fortnight since you got engaged.”_

_“I thought she’d have …”  
“She? I just said I haven’t seen Linds … no … you mean Sawyer! You thought_ she’d _have told me? How would she have seen the ring?”_

_He looks at Luke and sees what? Embarrassment for sure. Guilt? A little. A bit of remorse, maybe, but not enough. The blond opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and he closes it again, shaking his head._

_“How the hell would Sawyer have seen it, Lucas?” Nathan shouts at him._

_“She … she came to the house later that night. She saw it. Lindsey showed her.”_

_Nathan leans back on the doorframe, his head thrown back. No wonder she’d been such a mess the next day. Peyton had no doubt had that ring …_ her _ring, everyone knew it was_ her _ring … shoved in her face by a triumphant Lindsey, after Lucas had kissed her back just the blink of an eye before._

_“God, Luke is there no end to your stupidity? Fuck, and mine!”_

_“Yours?”  
“She was an absolute basket case the next day when she took me to rehab. Again. Because of you. Again.”_

_“I’m entitled to be happy, Nathan. I’m entitled to mo …”  
“If you say move on, I’ll fucking deck you, crutches and all. Sure, you’re entitled to move on. But you’re not entitled to mess with her, and keep her on a line and toy with her and jerk her around when you intended to propose to someone else. And you _know _that’s what you’ve been doing.”_

_“I didn’t intend to …”  
“Hurt her? Bullshit. I don’t believe you. You had every intention of hurting her. From the second she came back to Tree Hill you’ve been digging away at her.”_

_“I didn’t mean to …” he hauls himself up short again, but, again, his younger brother knows him too well and fills in the blanks._

_“Ha! You were going to say you didn’t mean to ask Lindsey to marry you! Now_ that _I can believe. What a mess.”  
“It’s not. It’s fine. I love Lindsey and I’m going to marry her. She said yes, and we’re going to get married and it’s going to be perfect.”_

_“Yup. Right. Well, all power to ya, Luke. You enjoy living in that alternative reality of yours. But in this reality, when this all turns to crap, you stay away from Sawyer. In fact, you stay away from her anyway. You got that? I’m watching you. I’ll tell Lindsey about the kissing, and about the ring too, if that’s the threat I need to hold over your misguided head.”_

_“You wouldn’t.”_

_“Oh, hell yeah, I would. Let me make this very clear: if I hear you’ve been anywhere near my best friend when I’m not right there next to her to monitor your shitty behaviour, I’ll be whispering in your fiancée’s ear quicker than you can say cheating, lying bastard. Don’t ask me to be your Best Man; a refusal on anything to do with marriage is something you’ve demonstrated you don’t deal too well with.  And until you think you can give me an even remotely impartial hearing on all this shit about Carrie, you can consider our brotherly relationship well and truly on hold. Now if I’m not mistaken, I think I asked you to leave.”_

_And he turns his back and swings his way back inside, slamming the front door in Lucas’ face. A minute later, Nathan’s leaning over the kitchen sink dry-retching._

_“Jesus! That’s as close as I ever want to get to being Dan Scott,” he mutters to himself._

 

 

Back in the motel, after a long and involved chat while they are sort of but not quite cuddled up on the couch (neither of them being sure if cuddling is part of what they are doing, or not) comparing notes on that action-packed day, Peyton eventually asks him why, of all days, it was _that_ day that he thought was so momentous.

“I guess because you were right.”  
“Me?”

“Remember you told me that moving into an apartment would moreorless mean conceding defeat? That’s exactly what moving into the beach house was, even tho’ Dan said it was just in case. It meant I wasn’t going to fight to save the marriage, and I carried that over to Luke too. When he didn’t even give me fair hearing, when he threw the Best Man thing in my face, and after all the crap he pulled with you, I just decided it wasn’t worth fighting for. I’m not sure if I realised I was doing it, but right then and there I stopped putting effort into people that weren’t worth it. And I took all that energy and worry and stuff that I’d have poured into fixing the unfixable, and put it into rehab instead.”  
“Mmm,” she agrees, running her hand over his shoulder, “it was only a couple of weeks after that that I found you in the gym trying to shoot hoops.”

“And sucking at it!”

“God, Nathan, you were trying to shoot one handed while the other hand held a crutch! Then trying to retrieve balls on crutches!”

He takes her hand off his shoulder and brings it to his lips in a sweetly, romantic gesture that confuses the hell out of her. Romance?

“You offered to meet me at the gym every morning and retrieve balls for me,” he says. Right. Of course. Mistaking romance for basketball related gratitude.

“Impossible,” she says with a laugh. “I hate early mornings.”

“And yet you offered. And more to the point, you did it for weeks.”

“Only until you got good enough that I couldn’t feel physically superior to you anymore,” she quips.

“Right. So … you’re getting up for early morning runs with me now because you do feel physically superior to me?” he says, with a devilish smile as his hand slides under her silky top.

“Sure,” she flirts back.

“Impossible.”  
She raises an eyebrow, grabs his hand with both of hers and pulls it away from her skin, then moves to straddle his lap.

“So,” she says, leaning in to tease his most groan-inducing spot under his ear with a glancing, open mouthed kiss, squeezing her thighs firmly into the side of his own and placing his hands on her bare thighs. “So, if you’re physically superior … tell me whose legs do you like more? Yours or mine?”

“Yours,” he says quickly, running his hands up to and then just under the hem of her skirt.

“And,” she continues, slowly undoing each of his shirt buttons in turn, kissing the piece of skin she exposes each time she parts the fabric a little further, “whose chest do you like better? Yours or mine?”  
“Probably a tie,” he answers defiantly, his hands still active on her thighs.

“Really?” she asks with a sultry smile, peeling her T-shirt off, placing her hands atop his and pressing down on them to hold them still while arching forward to rub her chest teasingly against his.

“No,” he concedes gruffly, slipping his hands out from under hers and rubbing them tantalisingly over her lacy bra then cupping her, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. “Yours definitely has the edge.”

“Okay,” she says, “two for two. You want me to keep going here?”  
“I do if the next question is whose ass I like better.”

“You’re smarter than you look, Scott.”  
“Hey!”

She laughs against his lips and kisses him deeply, teasing him with her tongue then suddenly pulling back and standing up.

“Hey!” he repeats with a sulk. “I like your lips better than mine too.”

She steps back, staring him down while she unzips her skirt and slowly wriggles it down over her hips and off, then turns and walks away, swinging her hips at him.

“Where do you think you’re taking that sexy ass?” he yells at her.

“Bedroom. You can join me if you just admit my ass is better than yours.”

“You win; your everything is better than mine.”  
“Well,” she says saucily, “there might be one thing of yours that’s better than mine …”  
“Only ‘cos you don’t have one!”

“I meant your free throw,” she teases.  
“Maybe I did too,” he smirks back.

“Sure, you did. Nate?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Shut up and come and show me that _free throw_ for a while.”

 

Later (much later!) he asks her what day _she’d_ choose, if she had to choose one that was the beginning of her life, her life outside of her work, changing. When she doesn’t answer for a long time he can’t help but fill the silence.

“I suppose for you it would be the LA proposal, right? Or his _other_ proposal? Or the wedding?”

She smiles softly and rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek and gazing at him.

“No. Not LA. I think, actually it was … maybe … earlier than the other proposal, the _Lindsey_ proposal. I definitely didn’t recognise it at the time, but I think it was Haley’s birthday party.”  
“Why?” 

That party had been pretty awful for her, he thinks. Lucas had trailed around after her being an ass and when she and Brooke had left, she’d been _really_ upset and refusing to speak about anything except vodka and ice cream.

“Because,” she says, “it was hard - really, really hard - but I got through it. And Brooke was awesome. And Skills was cool. And it was when I finally really took it in; that what Lucas was doing just … wasn’t _right_. That it didn’t matter if I’d said no, or someday, or in a year, or whatever, to his proposal, I still didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I think … I think that was the beginning of me getting over it all. It still took a long time, in fact way, way too long … but it was a turning point, of sorts.”  
  
**_Haley’s Birthday Party, September, The Year Before_**

_“Seriously Brooke? You’re going to make me go to this thing?”_

_“Yup.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because. Because Haley is your friend and it’s her birthday.”_  
“It may be her birthday but I think we’ve established that Haley may have been my friend a long time ago but that she’s been a cow to me ever since you and I came back to this godforsaken little town.”  
“P. Sawyer, I know I didn’t see it at first, and I’m so sorry for that. I know she’s been really off, but … she’ll come around.”  
“She’ll come around?  Brooke, she shouldn’t have to come around _! I … I get that she will always take Lucas’ side over mine. I do. I get that. I mean God! She takes Lucas’ side over her own husband’s half the time. But … she never even asked, you know? She just believed every shitty lie he told. And … I even get that she’d be friends with the Ice Princess. She wants her best friend to be happy and she thinks Lindsey is the one for him. So, fine. But does that really mean she has to completely turn her back on me? I … she’s_ Haley! _She’s supposed to be better than that. She’s supposed to be the grown up out of all of us, and be wise, and all seeing, and …”_  
“Oh. P. I know. But … I really think that the way to make her see all of that, is for you to be the bigger person. Go to her birthday thing, wish her well, put your happy face on, be the amazingly gracious woman you are. She’ll see it eventually.”

 _“You think?”_  
“Yeah, I do.”  
“Well, I don’t,” Peyton pouts in return.

_“Then will you just go for me?”_

_“I have to endure the anti-Haley being a cow to me, not be able to say anything because it’s her birthday, and put up with the Ice Princess having her icy hands all over my Lucas … for you?”_

_“Well … I have it on reasonably good authority that Her Iciness has been delayed in the Big Apple and probably won’t make it back in time anyway. Does that help?”_

_“Who told you that?”_

_“Um … your Lucas?”_

_“Bah! You know I didn’t mean that. He’s Lindsey’s Lucas now. And you know what? I’m really starting to think that_ my _Lucas was a mirage. The version that’s strutting around Tree Hill these days is like … pod Lucas, the by-product of some crazed alien invasion.”_

_“Um. What?”  
“Honestly Brooke, it’s like he’s got a tape recording inside him that’s stuck on Lindsey. Lindsey. Lindsey. Lindsey. Lindsey.” She knows she’s being childish; screwing her nose up and pouting (still) and putting on a silly, whiny voice but she just can’t help herself._

_“Babe, I think you might be being a touch oversensitive on that. I haven’t noticed that at all.”_  
“With all due respect, you didn’t notice the anti-Haley being a cow to me either.”  
“I’m fairly tuned to L. Scott behaviour, tho’. I think I’d notice that. Anyway, move your skinny ass, P. Sawyer. I’ve put a totally divine Clothes over Bros original on your bed. You’re going to look so ravishing, Lucas Scott will be saying Ice Princess Who within moments of you walking in.”

_“I don’t wanna.”_

_“I know.  But you’re P. Sawyer and you’re gonna. And you’re gonna smile and strut and be magnificently cool and nothing is gonna get to you.”_

_“But if it does?”  
“I have a bottle of emergency vodka in the freezer, right next to two tubs of quadruple calorie ice cream.”_

_“You make a tempting offer, B. Davis.”_

_“C’mon. You’ll be the second most gorgeous girl there.”  
“Behind only the scintillating B. Davis, right?”_

_“Oh, sorry, the third, then.”_  
“What?”  
“Ice Princess Lindsey then me, then you.”  
“Bitch. You said she’s in New York.”  
“Get you fired up though, right?” Brooke challenges.

 _“Take me to your makeup and hair straighteners, oh queen,” Peyton chuckles, bowing her hands several times in front of Brooke._  
“Hair straighteners?”  
“Hell yeah. I’ll be damned if Lucas Scott gets to see my curls today.”

_“Well that CoB frock is damned short, girly, so he won’t be able to take his baby blues off your legs anyway.”_

_“Good. I hope he swallows his damned tongue while he’s at it. Maybe then he’ll stop saying Lindsey. Lindsey. Lindsey. Lindsey.”_

_Brooke was right; the dress is short. Mid-thigh at best. It looks black at first glance but close up, it’s midnight blue and throws her green eyes into relief. Peyton looks in the full-length mirror in Brooke’s bedroom (she doesn’t have one herself) and shrugs. What the hell! She insists on wearing flats though. Brooke argues, but Peyton makes the case that in a dress this short with heels, she’ll be so self-conscious she’ll pull at the hem all night and completely ruin the effect. With some cute little flats, she can, she thinks, rock it. Just._

_So, she throws on a massive pile of off-beat, funky bangles and some long dangly earrings that twist and turn and catch the light. She hadn’t really realised how long her hair had gotten either; she usually throws it in messy bun or ponytail. Even in its natural curly/wavy state, it’s midway between her shoulders and her shoulder blades. Straightened in to a sleek curtain, it’s even longer. She swishes it about for a moment. It’s good. Good for a change, she decides, wishing she could change her head and her heart as easily as her hair._

_“Did we get anti-Haley a gift?” she asks Brooke as they head out the door._

_“I got her a CoB dress,” the brunette says raising a large, flat box._

_“Oh. Nice.”_

_“Here,” Brooke says, after tormenting her for a moment, passing her a small gift-wrapped box. “You got her a really pretty pair of earrings. Trust me, she’ll love them.”_

_“Hey, Brooke?”_

_“You’re welcome,” Broke grins._

_“No, really, thanks. For everything.”_

_“Even for making you come back to Tree Hill?”_

_“Yeah, that one? Not so much,” Peyton snipes._

_“You’re gonna stick it out though, right?’ Brooke asks, searching her friend’s face for clues. “You’re not gonna go back to LA?”_

_“LA sucked the soul out of me. Never again.”_

_“So? Got a plan?”  
“Actually … kinda working on one.”_

_“To the point where you’ll spill?”_

_“Not yet. But as soon as I’m ready I’ll let you know.”_

_“Good enough. Hey, P?”  
“Yeah?”_

_“You look beautiful. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”_

_When they arrive, they’re met at the door by Nathan, still in the wheelchair, but looking pretty hale and hearty compared to the guy they encountered just over a month ago. They both hug him. He makes a wise crack about being at just the right height to greet two gorgeous girls in such short dresses, so they both slap him around the ears and head on in. Haley greets Brooke warmly, Peyton not so much, but after a carefully aimed elbow from her roommate, Peyton smiles almost genuinely, wishes her hostess many happy returns, delivers the gift and looks around._

_“Ohmigod,” she says, “is that_ Taylor _?”_

_Haley’s ‘crazy’ older sister is holed up on the sofa, her leg in a cast from ankle to almost hip. She’s nursing two things; a mug of tea and, interestingly, a baby monitor._

_“Yeah,” Haley replies. “Her boyfriend has to go away on business for a week and managing a three-month-old when you have a broken leg is kind of impossible, so she’s staying here for a few days.”  
“A three-month-old?” Brooke chips in incredulously._

_“Yeah; we had no idea until she rang a couple days ago.”_

_“Wow,” Peyton enthuses, seeing her escape route, “I’m gonna go say hi.”_

_She slips away and spends a good half hour catching up with Taylor James. They weren’t really close at high school, with Taylor being two years older, but were on the cheerleading squad together for one season when Taylor was a Senior, and Peyton and Brooke were Sophomores, and hung out a bit at a few parties. Probably not something Haley ever realised, Peyton thinks now._

_The ‘crazy’ has really toned down but Taylor is still hilarious and she soon has Peyton in stitches with tales of being a new Mom._

_“So,” says the hostess’ big sister, after a bit, “I hear you’re playing chauffeur getting my brother-in-law to rehab?”_

_“Oh, yeah. He’s doing great. I think he might be out of that damned wheelchair after a few more sessions.”_

_“He really appreciates it; you know?”_

_“I know. But it’s cool. I’ve got nothing better to do right now, and I fill in the waiting time with some stuff I’m working on.”_

_Taylor leans forward as if to share a secret._

_“I think my little sister might think the_ stuff _you’re working on is her husband.”_

_Peyton rolls her eyes and stands._

_“So, that’s a no, then?” Taylor laughs._

_“God, TJ,” she says dragging out an old nickname, “that’s a_ hell no _!”_

_Taylor stares her down for a bit then nods. “I believe you, CheerGloomer.”_

_“Ohmigod. I haven’t heard that in … wow.”_  
“How did you get that little pearler, again?”  
“It was after I bitched and moaned for half a practice about those revolting cheerbloomers and how thick the fabric was, then maybe had a sulky fit about it for the rest of the practice.”

_“Aah, yes.  Peyton Sawyer, the gloomiest, doomiest cheerleader of them all.”_

_“Says Taylor James, the cattiest, sluttiest cheerleader of them all!”_

_“I wore that title with pride, thank you very much!”_

_“Hey, I’m gonna go catch up with Skills for a bit. I’ll be back.”_

_“Good. You’re way more fun now than you were in high school.”_

_“Thanks. I think.”_

_Sitting outside, with a nice breeze through her hair and on her face, and with her aviators in place, she’s having a great time with Skills too. It’s really the first time since she’s been back that she’s sat down and had a good, long catch up with him, and, as with Taylor, she’s laughing more often than not. Skills is hilarious and is loving catching her up with his unique take on all the Tree Hill gossip she missed in four years. She hears way more about Mouth, Junk and Fergie than she has from anyone else and Skills seems to really get why she turned her back on the music scene in LA. She’s actually thinking that she’s glad she came, and they’ve just turned to the subject of the Ravens’ last season, when a shadow falls across them. She catches the scent of him before she looks up and has just that crucial second to compose her features. The sunglasses definitely help, and she decides she’s not taking them off for anyone._

_“Hey,” he says, standing just a bit too close and looming over her._

_“Lucas,” she replies carefully, neutrally, pleasantly. “Skills and I are talking about the Ravens’ last season. Sounds like you two did an awesome job.”_

_Phew. Just the right mix of friendly and interested, she thinks. But the effort? Man, it never used to be this hard to just speak to him. She’s concentrating on every word, making sure it’s light and casual, making sure her tone is easy._

_He shrugs, and for a moment she sees the modest, unassuming teenager she loved with all her heart._

_“Yeah,” he says coolly, “we did good.”_

_“And Baby Girl,” Skills chips in, “the best thing is we got within a whisker of the State Champs final with a team of Juniors. Not a single Senior on the team last year. This year? Bear Creek, Oak Lake, Pontiac have all lost more than half their team. We’re looking good to go all the way.”_

_“Well,” she says, “I’ll maybe have to come and cheer for your boys on the occasional Friday night.”_

_“Damn,” Skills answers, bumping her fist, “we can drum up a uniform for you, I reckon. How’s your high kick these days?”_

_She laughs and stretches her legs out, cocking her head to one side._

_“Probably not what it once was, I’m afraid, Mr Taylor. And I meant cheer from the stands not from the side-lines.”_

_“Well, girly, maybe you can just be eye candy then?”_

_She chuckles again and pulls him in with one arm, rubbing his shaved head with her other hand, before Lucas cuts in._

_“You know, the best thing about last season was how amazing it was to have the support of a beautiful, supportive girlfriend like Lindsey throughout it,” he says. “Knowing Lindsey was in the stands at games, having my back, made it all so much more satisfying.”_

_Skills eyes his fellow coach while casually leaning back, spreading both arms behind him on the bench seat, making sure that the one behind Peyton presses into her hip just a bit. The difference that tiny gesture of support makes is phenomenal. In an instant, she goes from feeling like a knife has pierced her heart, to being able to plaster on a bright smile. But she’s still not taking off those aviators._

_“That’s so true,” she says calmly. “Having the right person at your side, or in the stands as the case may be, while you’re living your dream is amazing. I hope you get to share a State Champ final too. Hey!” she says, turning to Skills as she stands, “I seriously need a glass of water. You need anything Skills?”  
“Nah, I’m good Skinny. But … just in case I don’t catch you again before you head out … you got plans tomorrow?”_

_“Just chauffeuring Nate to rehab in the morning. Be back by lunchtime.”_  
“You wanna meet me for a burger for lunch?”  
“You buying? ‘Cos you know I’m totally tapped out!” she jokes.

_“It would be my pleasure, Miss Sawyer.”_

_“Well then you have a date, Mr Taylor. Text me where and when?”_

_“Deal.”_

_“Alrighty. Catch you both later, guys.”_

_She can feel the blonde’s eyes burning a hole in her back and down her legs, which suddenly feel very, very exposed.  She consciously keeps her back straight and her steps light. She doesn’t see Skills turn to Lucas and scowl at him._

_“Dude! What the …? Lindsey came to like … three games all season! What’s your deal?”_

_“It was more than that,” Lucas replies, still watching Peyton walk away.  
“Man, I’m keeping the stats this season ‘cos you can’t even count no more.”_

_“How you doing, bestie?” Brooke says close to her ear, pulling her away from the crowd to a quiet corner of the living room, where they stand, sipping a chilled white wine each, and watching the room._

_“Well, I had an awesome catch up with anti-Haley’s big sister, who is way more fun than her evil younger sibling, by the way. And I was having a fabulous catch up with Skills until someone came and ruined it.”  
“And by someone I assume you mean the Lindsey-spewing pod Lucas?”_

_“Oh, it wasn’t quite so pronounced this time,” Peyton says drily. “Two sentences; two Lindsey mentions. Oh, no! I’m exaggerating, sorry._ Three _sentences; two Lindsey mentions.”_

_“P. I think …”  
“Ladies,” he says as he joins them._

_“Why speak of the devil,” Brooke intones. “Your ears burning, Broody?”_

_He looks at Peyton right away. “Should they be?” he asks._

_“I was just commenting on your shirt,” Brooke lies smoothly._

_“It’s nice, right?” he asks, smoothing his hands down the front of it “Lindsey chose it. We had this great little break away a few weeks back, Lindsey and I. Went to Lindsey’s aunt’s place in New England. Linds dragged me out shopping, which I usually hate, but Lindsey has such great taste, and she chose this shirt. It’s great, right?”  
Brooke raises an eyebrow at him.  Okay. So, Peyton wasn’t exaggerating much. Or at all._

_“Actually,” Brooke, says, looking him up and down, “it’s beautiful quality fabric and very well cut, but I think it’s kind of Brooks Brothers-ish; a bit conservative for you. I think I prefer you in someone a little more … real. But hey, what would I know?”_

_“Someone? Don’t you mean some_ thing _?” he asks._

 _“Do I?” she says coyly? “No, I think I mean some_ one _.” She lets that sit for a moment or two before she continues. “I definitely would prefer you in some_ one _more real ... like Pilati,” she says, drawing out the P tantalisingly and earning a discreet elbow nudge from Peyton, “or maybe Nying and Hallin, one of those edgy new designers.”  
“Well,” he says, “I like it, Lindsey chose it for me and Lindsey’s taste is pretty spot on. Oh hey! I know I said she probably wasn’t going to make but I heard from Linds; she got a standby seat so I think she’ll get here in time to wish Haley a happy birthday in person. I love that my best friend and my girlfriend are so close. Hales loves Lindsey.”_

_Peyton looks up to spot Nathan on the other side of the room, fiddling with the stereo and jumps at the opportunity to get out of this conversation._

_“Oh, good grief!” she declares, “I cannot let Nathan take control of the music, it’ll be Beastie Boys or NWA before we know it.” And she’s gone._

_Brooke immediately turns to Lucas and punches him in the bicep. Hard._

_“Ow! What was that for? It’s just a shirt!” he complains, rubbing his arm._

_“It_ is _just a shirt. And_ you’re _just a jerk!”_

_“What?”  
“Seriously Lucas? Do you know how many times you said Lindsey’s name in that conversation?”_

_“A couple. Why?”_

_“Nine!”  
“So? It’s not normal to mention your girlfriend’s name?”_

_“Not like that, you idiot. You’re just trying to screw with Peyton. And that’s so not cool.”_

_“Oh please! I am not trying to …”_  
“Okay. Let’s do a little experiment, shall we. You said Lindsey’s name in front of Peyton nine times in a couple of minutes. You must know it makes her uncomfortable but you’re just trying to push her buttons. And if it’s not deliberate, then you’re just an idiot who still hides your heart, which might be even worse. So, let’s see … let’s find a word that makes you uncomfortable and say it nine times in rapid succession and see how that goes. A word like ... hmmm, let me think …  a word like someday _, maybe? Someday. Someday. Someday. Someday. Someday. Someday. Some …”_  
“You’re being ridiculous, Brooke.”  
“And you’re being an ass _, Lucas. An ass in a very well-tailored, very expensive, very conservative shirt that has no personality or life or …or point of view whatsoever. A bit like you these days, really.”_

_She walks away and he’s left open mouthed. He likes this shirt. He looks down. Well, at least he thinks he likes this shirt._

_An hour of successfully avoiding Lucas, and Peyton’s back on the sofa, reminiscing some more with Taylor. She’s point blank refusing to compare ‘intimate’ notes on Nathan with the broken legged one, who laughs and says she was only joking, when noises start emitting from the baby monitor._

_Taylor begins to struggle up, but Peyton places an arm on Taylor’s. “I’ll go,” she offers. “Is he in one of the upstairs guest rooms?”  
“Yeah, second on the left. You sure? You know anything about babies?”_

_“More than you’d think,” Peyton laughs. “A few years back I had a boyfriend who had a daughter. And a couple of friends in LA with babies. Is it time for him to get up?”_  
“No. He probably just lost his pacifier or his favourite toy.”  
“I’ll find them then. And if it’s not either of them … what’s his MO? Rocking in the arms or holding over the shoulder?”

_“You do know what you’re doing! Rocking in the arms.”_

_Peyton stands and Taylor grabs her hand. “Hey, thanks Peyton.”_

_“No problem. Back in a bit. Save me cake if they serve it while I’m gone!”_

_Just then Peyton hears Haley yell out to Lucas to round up people for dessert, so she turns and points at Taylor. “Cake duty, James! Save me some or I take your firstborn!”_

_As she’s heading towards the stairs she hears Haley yell out for Lucas again, but he starts making some sort of excuse. “Lucas Scott!” she cries, wielding a large kitchen knife, “I have a husband in a wheelchair and a sister with a busted leg and I need someone to round up people to eat cake on my birthday! Not get your ass over here and do it!”_

_“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Brooke sails in and grabs the large, crumb and frosting covered knife from Haley’s hand. “Seriously, Tutor-Wife. That doesn’t look safe. Go sit with your busted legged sister. I’ll serve the cake and bring it to you. You didn’t want candles and singing?”_

_“No. I feel old,” Haley pouts. “I want to eat my cake without some dumbass thinking it’s fun to put those stupid relighting candles on it.”_

_“Haley. You seem kind of wound up …”_

_“Just pass around my cake, Tigger,” she sighs. “And … thanks.”_

_A few moments later and most of the crowd are hanging around the living room, enjoying the cake, and Haley has calmed down enough to be laughing with her sister. The baby monitor crackles into life again and Haley asks Taylor if she’d like her to go._

_“’S okay, Peyton’s gone,” Taylor answers and forks a huge piece of cake into her mouth._

_“Peyton?” Haley repeats with a grimace. “You do want your baby to live, right?”  
“Mmmm?”_

_“Your baby? My nephew? With Peyton Sawyer?”_

_Taylor swallows and pats her baby sister on the arm._

_“Haley Bob? Settle. She knows her stuff.”_

_Just then the voice of the woman in question floats over the baby monitor._

_“Well, little man, you are cute. Pacifier? Check. Toy? Check. Guess you just want rocking, huh? C’mon on. Up you come, then. Now it’s been a little while, but I think we can manage this. There you go. Well done. You just wanted some company, didn’t you? Well your Mommy needs to sit, so you’ll have to make do with me for now but I think I’ve got this rocking thing down.”_

_Taylor raises her eyebrow at Haley and mouths ‘told you so’ at her as her son’s cooing continues. Haley pulls a face and takes another forkful of cake, trying not to listen to the baby monitor but finding it strangely fascinating, and suddenly remembers how amazingly kind and warm her friend, (ex-friend?) had been with Jake’s daughter so long ago._

_“I don’t even know your name, little man,” Peyton’s gentle voice continues, “but you’re dreamy. You’re a dream come true, you are.”_

_“You could’ve had that,” comes a voice from the hallway behind her. In the baby’s room, Peyton closes her eyes, takes a breath, steels herself and turns. Downstairs, Haley James Scott stops chewing._

_“Lucas? Aren’t you missing out on birthday cake?” Peyton asks mildly.  
“You’re missing out on _everything _,” he retorts with an icy tone, stepping into the room, standing just a couple of feet away from her. She’s glad she has this precious baby in her arms, she thinks, because if she didn’t she may well be slapping Lucas Scott right now._

_“Everything?” she says mildly. “Living in an awesome house with my best friend. Helping my other best friend, your brother, rebuild himself. Enjoying Fall in my home town. Taking some time to catch up with old friends I haven’t seen for years. I don’t think I have a lot to complain about.”_

_“No? What about those big dreams of yours, Peyton? Those big, big dreams that you stayed in LA for?”_

_She knows what he’s really saying, with his sarcastic bite and icy tone. He’s saying the dreams she was chasing when she asked him to wait for her. No … when she, apparently, in his head anyway, said no to him. She doesn’t reply though. She can’t. She knows her dreams are in tatters. She never thought he’d rub that in her face. And she certainly didn’t dream he could be even more cruel than that, but when he opens his mouth again, she’s devastated by his words._

_“You know what, Peyton,” he says, almost spitting her name, “maybe you did me a favour when you said no.”_

_“Wh-what?” she asks, her eyes wide and glistening. “Lucas …”_

_“No! Look around you! What have you got? A few high school friends. No job. No family. No man. You could have had all of that. Like I do … now. With Lindsey.”_

_Of course, Lindsey. God, she could just scream._

_“Ahh, Lucas,” she says with a note of bitterness that she can hear, even in her own voice, “but if I’d said yes, you wouldn’t have Lindsey, would you? So, like you say, maybe I did do you a favour.”_

_And when she says his own words back to him it hurts him, and maybe he gets a tiny glimmer of how much he might have just hurt her. But it’s not a big enough glimmer to stop him._

_“You know? You’re not the same, Peyton. Not the Peyton I remember, anyway.”_

_Oh, how she wishes she had a hard-enough heart to tell him he can talk, that this pod Lucas is just … but she doesn’t. She can’t._

_“Well,” she says quietly, “I guess I haven’t been that Peyton for three years.”_

_“That Peyton would at least be proud of me achieving my dreams, even if she didn’t want to be part of it.”_

_“Oh Lucas, I_ am _proud of you getting your dreams. It’s all I ever wanted for you. That’s why I asked you to wait a … never mind. I’m sorry you don’t think I’m proud of you. Of course, I am! I was proud of you for that divisional championship, and for getting your book published and I was proud of that massive crowd at that LA bookstore signing and I ...’_

_His heart stops. “You what? How would you know that?”_

_“Know what?” she asks, a little distracted as the baby coos at her, and she tickles his cheek and smiles gently down at him._

_“The size of the crowd at my LA signing. You never showed. I asked you to come and you never showed.”_

_She smiles down at the baby. “Silly Lucas!” she coos at Taylor’s son. “Of course, I showed. So many people!” She looks up and meets Lucas’ gaze. “I was there, Luke. And I was so, so proud of you.”_

_“But …” he feels as if the ground is splitting open beneath his feet. She was there? It doesn’t make any sense at all. She smiles softly, shakes her head._

_“I saw that you were with Lindsey and I was so happy for you, Lucas. It just seemed best to … leave it alone, I guess.”_

_“Lindsey was my editor.”  
“Well, I know that.”_

_“No. She was_ just _my editor then. Nothing more.”  
“Really? Well … she kissed you. She clearly had feelings for you and hey! Look at where you are now. You must have had feelings for her too.”_

_Maybe it’s the realisation that they’d been mere seconds away from another chance. If he’d just looked up. If she’d just stayed ten more seconds. The ‘what if’ buries itself into his gut and makes him spew more hateful words._

_“You’re such a_ coward _,” he spits bitterly. “If you’d just had the courage to get over yourself, you could be rocking_ our _child right now. Our dream child. The one we imagined.”_

_She looks him straight in the eye at that, pools of green hurt watching him. Disbelief at how hard and callous he’s being. But underneath it all, defiance stirs. And she knows in that moment that she’s done with being a doormat._

_“So … let’s see,” she begins coolly. “You’d have a divisional champ or two under your belt at college coaching level, your wonderful coaching job with the Ravens, and you’d be pushing for State with them this year, and you’d be a bestselling author, and you’d have a beautiful child with me?”_

_“Just like we dreamed about,” he scoffs darkly._

_“Yeah,” she says softly. “So, I did_ what _in that dream, Lucas? Followed you back to Gilmore, watched you finish your degree, watched you coach your team to Divisional champs again, watched you publish your book?”_

_“You’d have been part of my dream. The dream we talked about. But it was all just talk with you, wasn’t it Peyton?”_

_“It_ wasn’t _just talk, and you know that, deep down. I wanted all of that for you and I’m so pleased that you have those things, Lucas. But in this wonderful scenario where I left LA and didn’t try to chase_ my _dream, I’ve done what exactly in your small college town then back here in Tree Hill? Cleaned house for you and gotten pregnant?”_

_“And where are you now?” he pushes angrily. “Further along than that?”_

_“So much for Peyton Sawyer has greatness in her, huh, Lucas? Thank you for that reminder of the_ greatness _of my failure,” she says sadly. “LA wasn’t for me. And maybe it took me longer than it should have to accept that, but I’ve learnt and I’ve absorbed and one day I hope I’ll use that knowledge. But at least I won’t have any what ifs about that. At least I know I tried. But you know what? Thanks for your comments about my life, or lack of it. Really. Thanks for your kindness and for your support. And thanks for proving, yet again, that I did, in fact, make the right call three years ago. We weren’t ready then and we sure as hell aren’t ready now.”_

 _“We!? There_ is _no we, Peyton! I have Lindsey. I’m with Lindsey. You said no, so I’ve moved on. Why can’t you?”_

_She blinks, confused. She really doesn’t think she was suggesting that there was a them, or she didn’t mean to. It’s just that …_

_“You know what, Lucas?” she says resignedly. “I_ know _you’ve moved on. And on the off chance that I ever forgot, you seem to have taken it upon yourself to remind me at every opportunity. But can you please,_ please _stop following me around this house and tossing your relationship status and your girlfriend’s name in my face? I_ know _you have her. I_ know _you’re with her. You told me within thirty seconds of us seeing each other again the day I got back, and you’ve told me repeatedly ever since then. You_ have _her! You’re_ with _her. Her name is_ Lindsey _. Great! Terrific! And she’s beautiful and smart and accomplished and perfect and I’m happy for you; I am! You don’t need to keep telling me you’ve moved on. And you don’t need to keep telling me that I need to. I know I need to and I’m trying, and one day I will. But you need to back off and give me time and space so that I can. Please. Can you ... can you just go?”_

_She turns her back on him and squeezes her eyes tightly closed. She will not cry. She will not cry. She will not …_

_“Peyton …”  
“I asked you to go. Please, Lucas.”_

_He gets a couple of odd looks when he returns to the living room but doesn’t think too much of it, then Lindsey bursts in through the front door, apologising to Haley for her tardiness. Haley seems very keen to keep the two of them close together and chatting just to her for much of the rest of the party, which he only realises afterwards. He’s not sure what that was about but, as he’s said to Brooke, he really does love the fact that his best friend and his girlfriend are so close, so he decides it’s just one of those things._

_He remembers Brooke and Peyton leaving not long after the latter re-emerged from tending to the baby. Brooke had thrown him a filthy look, which he thought was a bit much; it’s just a shirt, after all! His brother had seen Brooke and Peyton to the door and the three of them had had an intense exchange. He’d meant to ask Nathan what that was all about but for the rest of the evening, every time he started to speak to Nathan, the brunette had begged off to go and take care of some hosting duties._

_The waste bin at Brooke’s held two empty ice cream tubs and an empty Absolut bottle by the end of the night. But when it came to Lucas Scott, Brooke would never not believe her BFF again._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On to Savannah and, at last, the reappearance of Jake. Then home to Tree Hill and the end of Nathan and Peyton's road trip 'arrangement', or is it?

**Day 26, Savannah**

_Hey B. Davis. Can u believe I’m nearly a month into this?  Savannah here I come! Really hope I find some talent there. Not a lot to follow up on so far. Great tan though. Pxxx_

  1. _Sawyer! Talent in Savannah? Go find that sexy single Dad that made you blink your eyelids off way back when. Oh yeah, he can sing too, right? Bxxx_



_No comment. Px_

 

They’re only a week or so from the end of the trip and she hasn’t found the next Mia. She hasn’t found anyone that could be even _close_ to being the next Mia. Every night since she found that one guy has been a total bust. Well … except for what’s happening _after_ the hours spent in pubs, clubs, bars and other poky little venues. The music? Not so good. In fact, pretty bad. The nights back in their hotel or motel room? Oh. My. God.

But the lack of Mia 2 is making her a bit tetchy, and that’s maybe part of why, as they walk into a big, busy bar in Savannah, they’re not speaking.  It was a stupid fight. Actually, it was a _really_ stupid fight. Stupid GPS that packed up. Stupid Nathan for driving the wrong way. _Really_ stupid Peyton for _telling_ him he was going the wrong way, and making a big deal out of it, and, when he asked since when could she read a freaking map anyway, snapping at him that Lucas had taught her and clearly the blond Scott had a better sense of direction than the brunette. Did. Not. Go. Down. Well.

But he didn’t have to snap back that maybe the blond Scott had a better sense of a lot of things.

_“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”_

_“Nothing. Forget it.”_

_“No! A better sense of what, Nathan? Who to marry? Is that what you were going to say?”_

He hadn’t answered and had merely sworn under his breath when he saw the next road sign that did, indeed have an extra 25 miles on it compared to the last one that told them how far they were from Savannah.  He got off the highway at the next exit and turned them around. She’d muttered _I told you so_ under her breath and they’d had a very, very quiet rest of trip.

If she hadn’t already called Sarah and confirmed that she’d be there tonight to chat to her about her venues and artists, and who was playing where over the next few nights, she honestly thinks she’d have booked herself into a separate room to Nathan and just slept. Or drank. Or drank then slept. But he’d checked them into just the one room and when she’d picked up her bag to head out to meet Sarah, he’d just sort of appeared by her side.

So … here they are. In this bar that is … pumping. And the barman is expecting her, and tells her that Sarah has been held up at one of the other bars with a minor supplier issue, but will be here within a half hour or so, and he has instructions to get Peyton and whoever is with her fed and watered.  So, they’re at the bar, having a quick look at the wine list and the beer list and the menu, which looks really, really good actually, and they’re still not speaking. And she just _hates_ it.  It’s like being sixteen all over again, yet somehow worse. Worse because it’s been years since they weren’t speaking and she really, really doesn’t know how to get out of this hole. Way back when, he’d usually be the one to give in. He’d make some borderline but funny remark and she’d try to stay mad but wouldn’t be able to, and they’d crack up then make up. Or, on the odd occasion when he didn’t cave, she’d hit his arm or his chest and grumble that she knew she’d been a bit of a bitch but he’d provoked her and he’d say _A bit_? And she’d hit him again and he’d haul her into his lap or onto his bed and they’d crack up then make up.  Or they’d just yell at each other until they cracked up. Then made up.

But that was then and this is now, and she doesn’t even know what the hell this is, except that in a week it’ll be over and … she suddenly realises that _that’s_ why she’s been so off. It’s not about not finding Mia 2. That was always going to be a long shot. It’s … she’s just having such a blast with him. Not just the nights. Although they are amazing. The driving. And the laughing. And the filling in all those gaps from the years on opposite coasts. And this awesome little mutual appreciation society they’ve got going on, where all the crap and drama from Tree Hill has fallen away and it’s just them, and the car, and the road and the hotel rooms. And in a week, it’ll be over. And she doesn’t want to waste any more time having this ridiculous silent standoff that escalated out of nothing but she just doesn’t bloody well know what to do to …

Then his breath is in her right ear and his hand is on her left shoulder and his chest presses into her back just for a moment and it’s done.

“Sawyer, I’m sorry. I was a jerk.”

She turns and looks up at him, a tentative smile beginning, then spreading as he does that face. The _what are you gonna do, I’m such a dolt_ face that he used to do.

“Yeah,” she grins. “You kinda were.”

“And?” he prompts.

“Yeah. Okay. I was a bit of a bitch.”  
“A bit?” he teases, causing her to poke him in the ribs.

“That’s the throwback you want to drag out?” she exclaims.

He shrugs and she can’t help but laugh.

“Just remember,” she says, poking him again, “I was right. You _were_ going the wrong way.”

“Sawyer, shut up. I’ll go grab a table. Order me a steak and a beer?”

She rolls her eyes and nods, and checks what direction he’s heading in before she turns to give their order to the barman and points to where Nathan has grabbed a small booth on the other side of the room.

“So,” she says to him as she slides into the booth opposite him with her back to the stage, and passes him his beer, “not trying to drag this out, but where did that shit come from?”

“Fucked if I know,” he answers, shaking his head. “You?”

She shakes her head too.

“A few years back I’d have called you out for being all PMS then charmed my way back into your good books,” he says, looking sideways at her, then taking a long sip of his beer.

“A few years back the fight would’ve been bigger and noisier and louder and over something ridiculous,” she counters.

“So … no idea what’s bugging you?”

“I … I dunno. I guess I’m counting down the last week and I certainly haven’t found anyone to sign and …”  
“Wasted trip?” he asks, with an odd, un-Nathan look on his face that has her running her fingers through his hair in a gentle, tentative way.

“No,” she says softly.

“No Mia 2,” he says, glancing down.

“No. But … a whole lot of fun.”

“Yeah?” he asks, meeting her green eyes.

“Yeah. So … no idea what’s bugging _you_?”  
“Counting down too, I guess. I … just having doubts about this whole comeback thing,” he rushes out.

“Doubts? Why? You’re going great.”

He takes another pull of the beer and starts playing with the label on the bottle.

“Nate?”  
“I … I dunno … I need to be pushed, you know? I’m fast again. I’m strong again. But … I need to be up against a group of guys all at once, making it, pushing it … and I think maybe I won’t make it off the bench without having that edge _before_ I get back to the team.”

“Catch 22, huh?”

“God, that was a terrible book,” he mutters.

“It’s considered a masterpiece, you know,” she informs him.

“I know.”

“Your brother and your ex-wife both love it.”  
“I know. You?”

“God, that was a terrible book,” she says, laughing, holding her beer out to clink with his.

“You’re alright, Sawyer,” he grins, glancing over at the stage as he detects movement. “Holy shit!”

“What?”

But before he can speak, the mic is tapped, a guitar is strummed and a warm voice speaks from the stage.

“Here we are again,” it says, and is met with an enthusiastic cheer. The crowd clearly knows this guy.

“So,” he continues, “the very first time I played this song was to a pretty girl in a little bar that used to be just along the road.”

Nathan watches as Peyton’s eyes widen and her mouth all but drops open. She knows that voice. She twists in her seat to confirm what she already knows.

“The bar is long gone,” he continues, running his fingers over the guitar strings, “and I thought the girl was too. Haven’t seen her in years.”

There’s a few aaws and oohs from the crowd and he grins, holding up his hand.

“Imagine my surprise when I looked out from backstage a few minutes ago, and spotted her ordering at the bar. Still as gorgeous as ever.”

He strums again.

“You know who you are. This one’s for you.”

Jake Jagielski throws her a wink from across the room and launches into _Someday_ , and then she realises that a woman is standing next to Nathan, holding out a hand towards Peyton and introducing herself as Sarah. 

She’s more than a little Rachel Gatina-esque; tall and red headed, smart and funny, efficient and to the point. Peyton introduces her to Nathan, then she hands Peyton a neatly written list, with four venue names and addresses, including the one they’re in right now. Under each venue name is a bullet pointed list of two or three names, the nights they’re playing, their style, their potential. Peyton examines the list, laughs, and asks Sarah if she’d like to move to Tree Hill and help her run the label.

“Tree Hill,” she muses, looking towards the stage. “I think that’s where …”  
“Jake is from,” Peyton finishes, looking at the stage again.

“You know Jake?”

“She _dated_ Jake,” Nathan inserts, arching his eyebrow at Peyton when she frowns at him.

“Lucky girl,” Sarah counters. “Wait, you’re not ...?”  
“Jenny’s mother? No.”  
“Oh good, ‘cos I’d hate to have to throw you out,” Sarah grins. “So … at the risk of being rude, I have to go.  My little supplier issue is blowing up a bit, but I’ve let all the bar staff know you’re around and you shouldn’t have any issues. I’ll be here,” she points to the last place on the list, “on Friday night. I’d love to have a proper chat then, see what you think of everyone? See if we’ve managed to find your next star?”

“Sounds perfect,” Peyton nods. “And thanks so much. Your brother told me you’d be just the person to talk to. He was right.”  
“Well, we appreciators of good music must stick together, right? Last bastion of defence against the commercial crap that’s plaguing the industry?”

“Oh Lord,” Nathan mutters, “please don’t get her started on that.”

Peyton waves off his comment with a dismissive gesture, Sarah stands as their dinners are delivered by a young waiter, and tells them she’ll leave them to it, and see them Friday night. The steaks are fantastic, all signs of previous tension between them are gone, and they settle in to enjoy both their meal and Jake’s performance.

He’s better than he was before, she thinks. His voice has matured. His tone is just … beautiful. He sings some new songs - well, who knows how old they are, but they’re new to her - and covers a couple of old country rock numbers that are clear crowd favourites. His set lasts a good hour, and by the end of it, Peyton knows she wants to sign him. She also knows that her chances of that will be very dependent on his situation with Jenny.

Jake joins them after his set, approaching their table and holding out a hand to haul Peyton to her feet and pull her into a hug that is long and tight and so, so good. He holds her at arm’s length afterwards, shaking his head, that open, boyish grin on his face.  He looks great, she thinks. Healthy. Fit. Happy.

“Peyton Sawyer,” he says, still disbelieving. “It has been way, _way_ too long.”

All she can do is grin, then laugh, then throw herself back into his arms for another hug.

“Jake Jagielski! Sexy single Dad. You look great. And you _sound_ amazing!”

Jake flushes a little, turns to shake hands with Nathan then thanks him when the latter slides along and gestures to the seat next to him. In moments, a fresh round of beers arrives and Jake is looking between Peyton and Nathan.

“So,” he says after a long sip, and with an appraising look in his eye, “how do Peyton Sawyer and Nathan Scott come to be in Savannah on a Tuesday night?”

Peyton dips her head; she detects the slight emphasis on Nathan’s first name. It’s been a long, long time, but the last time she had any meaningful contact with Jake, other than the very occasional email or text over the years, it was _that_ conversation. The one about the other Scott boy. The one that ended the world’s briefest engagement. The one that had her leaving Savannah and heading back to Tree Hill to one of the messiest periods of her life.

“Road trip,” Nathan supplies when she doesn’t answer. “Sawyer’s scouting for talent for her label. I’m chasing decent pick-up games.”  
“You’re getting back in the game?” Jake asks, all interest.

“He’s already back,” Peyton chips in, earning herself a warning glance from Nathan.

“I saw all the coverage of your accident,” Jake says. “That’s some comeback, Scott.”

“It’s … it’s getting there,” Nathan replies. “There’s a way to go yet. But anyway, Jagielski, what’s up with you? Fill us in on … however many years it is.”  


She was right. He is healthy, fit and, most of all, happy.  He’s taken his GED, and is working away, albeit slowly, towards a degree with community college papers. Ultimately, he thinks he’ll teach, but for now he’s got a decent part-time day job that pays okay. He’s free to be with Jenny from mid-afternoon weekdays and all weekend. He and Jenny are now living with a friend, who babysits for him some weeknights so he can perform at this bar and one other.  His life is good, he says.

Peyton looks at him, her eyebrow raised, and he blushes, actually blushes.

“Friend?” she presses knowingly. “I think you might mean _girlfriend_ , Jake Jagielski, sexy but not so single Dad.”

“Actually, I might mean fiancée,” he replies, a little embarrassed. “Jo. Damn, you’re good.”

“I am indeed,” she laughs, leaning across to take his hand. “Congratulations, Jake. I’m so happy for you. Is she as amazing as you deserve?”

“More,” he says firmly.

“Well then, good! So … you have Jenny full time? God, how old is she now?”

He says yes, he still has Jenny, who is now in school, and the chances of her ever being taken away are virtually zero; Nikki is behind bars. She turned up a few years ago, tried to weasel her way back in, seemed to be doing okay so he foolishly gave her a chance. Next thing Jake knows, she’s cleaned out his bank account, ripped off anything of value in his small apartment and tried to do a runner.  Some tiny bit of her must have still felt vaguely maternal, because she’d stopped off at Jenny’s day care centre on the way out of town to say goodbye. The amazing supervisor there had smelt a rat, called the police before she even called Jake, and Nikki had been picked up on the way out of town.  The police had asked him if he wanted to press charges over his drained bank account and ripper off home. Initially he’d said no. When they’d informed him that they’d found enough cocaine in her car to put her away for dealing, and he realised how close he’d come to really endangering Jenny, he’d told them to throw the book at her. Then he’d got a court order removing any parental rights she might have had left.

“So, record label?” he asks her.

“Red Bedroom Records,” she says, a little proudly.

“Aah,” Jake smiles.

“What?”  
“Nothing,” he grins. “Or … maybe … some fairly amazing memories of a certain red bedroom?”

“You and me both,” Nathan smirks.

“You two suck!” Peyton exclaims, standing. “On that note, I’m excusing myself to the ladies. But when I get back, Jake Jagielski, we’re talking about how I can get you onto my label.”

They both watch her walk away, then catch each other out, and, slightly awkwardly, bump fists.

“You and Peyton, huh?” Jake asks Nathan after a beat. “Wait … you … you’re not doing that Scott thing and making her into the other woman, are you? ‘Cos I may not have seen her for a long time, but she’s really special to …”

Nathan holds his hand up to calm Jake’s agitation.

“Settle Jagielski. A: I’m divorced. More than six months. B: It’s just a road trip.”

Jake’s eyes narrow as he silently quizzes his old high school team mate.

“Right,” he eventually replies. “A: Good. B: I don’t believe it’s _just_ anything and C: If I’d had to predict Peyton Sawyer would walk in here with any Scott, it would’ve been your brother. I had to force myself to let her go because she was completely in love with him. What the hell happened?”

Nathan takes a thoughtful sip of his beer. It’s not his story to tell. But he knows the story of the engagement. She’d told him back near the beginning of this trip. Could’ve knocked him down with a feather at the time. And he’d kicked himself more than once over how none of them had been there for her when she went through it all.

“What happened,” he said slowly, “is that my brother was a dick to her over and over and over again.  I used to think he was a bit lost and a bit ... I dunno ... prone to fooling himself, especially when it came to her. Now I just think he’s an idiot.”  
Nathans pauses and takes a slow sip of his beer before he speaks again.

“ _Just for a change_ ,” he says sarcastically, “he picked the wrong girl; he got married a few weeks back. I really thought Sawyer’d fall apart but it seems like she’s truly over him. She finally gets that she’s better than him and all his shit. Which is just as well, ‘cos one of these days he’s gonna realise what a truly monumental fuckup he’s made of everything, and he’ll come back.”  
“But now she has you?”  
“What? No … we’re not …”

“Yeah, right. B: it’s just a road trip?”

“Yup.”

“Hmmm,” Jake muses as he stands and gesture towards the bar. Nathan nods that he’ll have another beer.

“Hmmm what?”

“It’s a Scott thing apparently,” Jake drawls. “Being prone to fooling yourself. Especially when it comes to her.” He gestures again, and Nathan follows Jake’s gaze to see Peyton walking across the room, those tight jeans tucked into her boots, her hair cascading over her shoulders, a tiny frown puckering her forehead as she reads something on her phone. There’s a bunch of guys at a booth further down that, to a man, turn and follow her with their eyes as she walks past them and on towards him. She’s oblivious to their attention. She’s always oblivious.

“I’ll get those beers,” Jake says, nudging him out of his reverie, “and when I get back I’ll tell you a bit about your next pickup game.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. Bunch of guys. I reckon they’d be pretty keen to take the great Nathan Scott down a peg or two.”

“Sounds like just what I’ve been looking for.”

Half an hour later, Peyton’s pouting that the guys have done nothing but talk basketball since Jake returned to the table with another round. He plays a couple of afternoons a week with a dozen or so guys. Mostly ex college players. They play to keep fit, but they’re damned competitive about it. He mentions a few names, and Nathan even knows a couple of them from his college days.  He’s getting more and more excited. He wonders if any of them would be free the next afternoon. It’s one of their regular game times, so Jake just gives him the location and tells him to be there any time after one to get put through his paces. Nathan looks like a kid who just got his best Christmas present ever. Peyton is still pouting.

Nathan teases her that basketball was always more important than music. She’s outraged. Jake’s amused and tells Nathan that if he keeps it up he may not live to make it to the game the next afternoon.  Peyton concurs, throws her road trip mate a filthy look, then turns to Jake and asks him, very sweetly, how he’d feel about her making him a huge star.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”  
“I don’t know. I used to dream about making a living out of music and I kind of halfway am. But …”

“But?”  
“That life … travelling, pressure, maybe … selling out?”

“Jake! You know me. I’m not that stereotypical suit with no heart and all my focus on the bottom line.”

“I know, Peyton, but … there’s Jenny, and there’s Jo … and …”  
“Okay. Just do one thing for me?”

“Maybe,” he teases.

“Check out my RBR website, read what I’m about. Talk to Jo. And just … really, truly consider it.  If it’s not for you, I get it.  But think about it. And give me first option if you decide you do want to chase it. Okay?”

He nods, tells her he can do that, then checks his watch and says he really does need to get home. As he’s standing, he suggests they both come to visit later in the week, that he’d love them to meet Jo and see Jenny again. He scribbles his cell number on a napkin and passes it to Nathan in case he has any trouble finding the court the next day, and is gone.

When Peyton walks through the hotel room door, Nathan behind her, her mind is full of what she could do if she got Jake into the studio.  She’s been thinking about it all the way back from the bar and hasn’t said much at all. The silence between them isn’t the fraught, tense one that hung there most of the day, but it does remind Nathan that she misinterpreted something he said. Big time.

She’s just deposited her bag on the coffee table and is reaching to remove her necklace when he steps behind her and gently pushes her fingers away, taking over the task. He gathers the long, surprisingly heavy chain into his palm, then turns it into hers, pressing his lips onto the side of her neck as he does so. He hears the breath escape her lips, and feels, rather than sees, her eyelashes flutter.

“Earlier today,” he begins, making her shake her head as she places the chain into her open bag.

“Fight’s over,” she murmurs, turning into his arms and bringing her fingers up to his top shirt button.

“Will you let me say this?”

“You already said sorry,” she says quietly, moving to the next button. But he stops her, taking her hands in his and holding them behind her back, kissing the other side of her neck.

“And I am, but that’s not what I want to say now.”

She waits. He swallows. She frowns.

“I didn’t mean that he had a better sense about who to marry,” he says quietly.

“Oh.”  
“I would never _say_ that because I don’t _believe_ that.”

“Okay. I …”  
“I meant that he had a better sense, back in high school, of how amazing you were. And how amazing you are. And when I’m a jerk like I was today, it just …”

She slips one hand from his, runs it up over his chest and shoulder and behind his neck and pulls his mouth down to hers.

“Shut up, Scott,” she smiles against his lips.

 

When he gets to the court the next day, quite early, Jake’s already there. Nathan stands back and watches as Jake, completely lost in his own head, sinks upwards of a dozen free throws in a row.  Nathan doesn’t recall Jake being this good. He was always great on defence, and around the mid court, but he wasn’t a shooter. Not really.

After watching another half dozen, he walks onto the court and Jake startles when he becomes aware of Nathan’s arrival.

“When did you turn into a free throw freak?” Nathan laughs, retrieving Jake’s ball and checking it to him.

Jakes pops up another one that drops dead through the centre of the ring.

“Free throws were … therapy?” he says, his voice rising in question. “Does that ...?”  
“Make sense? Hell, yeah.”

“When I had no cash, and no friends around, when there was just Jenny and me, it’d be me and the ball and the net. Jenny would be asleep in her stroller at the edge of the court or, occasionally with a sitter, and I’d just make free throws. Over and over and over. Therapy.”

“Well. You got good.”

“Yeah. D’s still my thing, though.”

“Alright then, Jagielski. Let’s see what you got.”

They’ve been at it for twenty minutes, when the next guy arrives. Over the next couple of hours, a succession of six foot plus, fit, skilled players come and go.  Introductions, and jokes, are made.  Occasionally they’ll stop for a few minutes to talk, but by and large, it’s just a flurry of activity up and down the court. Nathan stays on attack the whole time. Some sort of unspoken understanding has taken place and almost everyone else takes on defensive roles. He’s pushed and challenged and jostled and hassled. Someone tells him he needs more work on his left and he bridles, then stops, nods and starts pushing left more frequently. He’s blocked over and over. He gets pissed, then he gets determined, then he gets through. By going left. Over and over.

He becomes aware, at one point, that Jake has taken a seat on the bleachers and is taking photos, or maybe filming on his iPhone.  But he shakes that knowledge away, pushes the ball into the concrete hard and drives through the defence again.

When he leaves, he’s exhausted but exhilarated. _This_ is what he’d been hoping to find.  When Jake casually tells him same time tomorrow, he’s taken aback.

“Yeah?”  
“You’re here til when? Friday?”

“Something like that.”

“Same time each day til Friday then. It won’t be all of the guys every day, but there’ll be enough.”  
“Seriously?”  
“We do not joke around when it comes to ball, Nathan,” Jake assures him.

“I … yeah, but … I mean, don’t they have jobs or …”  
“Some, yeah. Couple of at home Dads with high-flying wives.  Couple that have their own gigs so can be a bit flexible.”  
“So ... what’s the … I mean … how did you all ...?”

Jake shrugs.  “Tree Hill’s not the centre of the basketball universe, man.”  
“No, but …”  
“I just stumbled on them. After the fiasco with Nikki a few years back, I got a bit dark and withdrawn for a while. Thinking about how close I came to making such a huge mistake, putting Jenny at risk. My cousin turned up at my place one day, waved this community noticeboard note under my nose, said _there’s a group of guys that shoot around a bit, you need to stop with the squillions of lonely free throws and play with real people, don’t fight me on this; you’re going,_ and shoved me out of the house.”

“Basketball therapy?” Nathan grins.

“Basketball therapy,” Jake agrees. “Now get out of here, man. Go rest up so you’re ready to squire that beautiful girl out to tonight’s talent scouting session.”

Over the next few days, Savannah is not just good to Nathan’s comeback aspirations; it delivers in spades to Peyton’s desire for new acts. When they meet up with Sarah on Friday night, Peyton has a singer songwriter and a band in discussions, and one of the barmen from the night before has told her there’s a big local band competition on over the next week that she should stick around for. He has some mates playing and, after a long and enthusiastic discussion about everything from Jack’s Mannequin to Fall Out Boy and Ray La Montagne to the bartender’s current favourite, some insanely young English troubadour-like kid, Jake Bugg, he tells her he is 100% sure she’ll find it worthwhile. She hadn’t planned on staying through the weekend, but she thinks she will. That plan looks like it might come unstuck when Nathan takes a phone call at the bar, while Peyton and Sarah talk animatedly over their drinks. When he ends the call, he looks … shellshocked, making Peyton stop mid-sentence to ask him if everything is alright.

“Um … I have to go to New York,” he answers vaguely, dragging his hand through his hair.

“Nathan, what’s going on?” she asks, concern rising.

He glances at Sarah, who picks up the hint and excuses herself, stepping away from them to speak to the barman at the other end of the counter.

“Nathan? You’re worrying me.”

“I … that was my agent.”

“Is your contract ...?”  
“No. No. It’s fine.  Um … there’s some big charity campaign thing they want me in on. I have to be in New York Sunday night for a meeting first thing Monday.”

“Well that’s awesome. So … you can get in another couple of good workouts with Jake and those guys Saturday and Sunday, and head up to New York Sunday afternoon.”  
“What about you?”  
“I kinda want to stick around for this big band comp next week anyway. It sounds promising. Three days, maybe, then drive home.”

“I don’t want you driving all that way on your own.”  
“Ohmigod, Nathan, it’s only six hours or so. I’ve done it before.”

“What about …?”  
“What?” she demands, eyes flashing, hands on hips.

“Going out at night? On your own?”  
“I’m not helpless, you know.”  
“I know, but …”

“I’ll ask Jake. Okay? And if he’s not free, I’ll talk to Sarah about borrowing one of her team. Happy?”

“You think I’m being overprotective, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she grins, pressing her fingertips into his abs just above his belt buckle for a moment. “But it’s kinda hot.”

“You are _so_ getting lucky tonight,” he drawls, leaning in to her ear.

“Hmm. You know, I’ve kinda been getting lucky a lot lately,” she quips.

“You better make the most of the next two nights,” he fires back, smirk firmly in place. “You and that mojo of yours.”

“You too,” she says, trailing her fingers along the top of his trousers as she walks away towards Sarah.

Unsurprisingly, he talks to Jake the next day, when the largest group of guys yet meets at the basketball court. Word’s gotten out, and a few guys that can’t generally make the weekday games have been called in. During his few, brief breaks, he tees up for Jake to invite Peyton to stay with him, Jo and Jenny for the rest of her stay in Savannah. When Nathan thanks Jake profusely, the latter just laughs him off, telling him he’d been going to do it anyway; that Jenny has been bugging him all week to see ‘her Peyton’ again, and besides, he’s got a few questions about this whole recording contract, being a big star thing.

“That’s awesome! You thinking you’ll do it?”  
“I’m not there yet. I may not get there at all. But I’m considering it. I told her I would.”

She’s busy Sunday afternoon, catching up with Jenny and meeting Jo (who is gorgeous, and warm, and welcoming and just ... perfect for Jake) so she doesn’t have time to miss her road trip companion. Not too much anyway. But when he calls her that night, she feels quite a stab. He teasingly asks her if she’s missing his fine ass. She demurs and asks him if his hotel is nice. He says it is, but that the bed is too big. She tells him a bed can never be too big. She feels that stab again when his reply is that maybe it just feels too big because for the first time in nearly a month, she’s not in it.  


 

 

 

 

**August**

A few days later, and she’s just a few hours out of her home town when her best friend calls.

“Hey Brooke.”

“Oh wow! She speaks! A real voice instead of just a text. Where are you, P. Sawyer?”  
“Aaah ... about three hours out from home. Got some wine in the fridge?”

“Hell yeah!” she laughs, before adding, “and some beers for Nathan.”

“Nate? Why?”

“He gets back in from New York tonight. I invited him for dinner.”

“Oh.”

“That okay?’ Brooke asks, confused by Peyton’s lack of excitement. “I thought you’d want to see him too.”  
“Well, yeah. I just thought it’d be us girls tonight. Haven’t seen you for more than a month.”

“I know, but you haven’t seen your other besty either.”

“Yea,” Peyton winces to herself. “Yeah, of course.”

“So … three hours is perfect,” Brooke says. “You can get him from the airport on the way in and I can cook dinner.”

“What? No. Let’s just get takeout. I’ll get it. You get Nate.”

“That makes no sense at all, P. You’re coming past the airport anyway. And besides, I’ve got a recipe I want to try.”

“Recipe? Geeze. When did you get all Betty Crocker?”  
“It’s a thing,” Brooke gushes. “A new thing. I’m pretty good actually.”

“Of course, you are, Brooke. You’re good at anything you put your mind to.”

“Including persuading you to get Hotshot from the airport?” she asks perkily.

“Yeah. Okay,” she concedes. It’s probably a good idea to have a conversation with him, make sure they’re okay, on the same page or _whatever_ about the last few weeks and what happens now. “So, we should see you about 5.30 then?”

“Yeah. I’ll text him to look for you instead of me.”

“Tell him I’ll wait in the pick-up zone outside. And if I’m not there I won’t be far off.”

“’K. See you soon, bestest friend.”

He checks his messages while he’s waiting for his bag and grins when he sees the text from Brooke. He hadn’t really expected to miss the blonde, well … blondey/gold/redhead, but he had. He has no idea what that means but having a half hour or so alone with her before they see Brooke might help him figure that out.

He sees her first. She’s leaning against the car, backlit by the afternoon sun, head thrown back exposing that slender neck, eyes hidden behind her shades, hair down and an absolute mess from the wind. All he can see is legs and that golden hair. He wants to play it cool, but she turns as if she senses him there and grins when she sees him frozen on the sidewalk across the road. Somehow the light becomes even more golden and he can’t help but return her wide, open grin.

“Hey,” she greets him as he walks towards her.

“Hey yourself. Long time, no see.”

She laughs at that. Three days.

“Feels it, huh? How was New York?”  
He throws his bag into the back seat and ushers her towards the passenger seat.

“Hey!” she protests, “I’m driving.”

“Nope. I missed this car.” He almost adds _and you_ , but catches the thought before the words come out.

She grumbles but concedes and folds herself into the passenger seat. He’s glad the top’s down on the car; he can sneak a look at those legs while he’s closing the door for her. The look she throws at him lets him know she’s not fooled for a second.

“So,” she laughs, as he starts the car and pulls out, “New York?”  
“Awesome! They’re looking at a pre-season charity game. Bobcats and Knicks, but mixing up the teams.”

“Wow. That’s kinda cool. What charity?”  
“That’s the thing; it’s HCM research.”

“Nate! That’s amazing! Is that why they called you?”  
“Sorta. One of the Knicks’ players has just been diagnosed. Went undetected all this time. God knows how that happens in a professional sport. So, he has to retire. They wanted to do a big send off, and he wants to raise awareness. They looked into celebrities with HCM and came up with Luke, then they made the link to me.”

“Wow. Tell me all about the meetings.”

They chat for a while and he finds, about ten minutes out, that his right hand has slid naturally to rest on her thigh, as it has for the last few weeks. She runs her hand down his forearm and over his hand, stopping and slipping her fingers into the gaps between his, then turns to look at him.

“You know, you’re gonna have to stop doing that now,” she says gently, almost wistfully.

“Why?”  
“Nathan. We’re back. We’re home …”  
His eyes narrow and he frowns. A minute later he’s pulling the car off the road into a layby.

“What are you ...?”

“You _want_ to stop, Sawyer?” he says a little aggressively, taking the proverbial bull by the horns.

“We said ...”

“Yeah. I know what we said. But do you _want_ to stop? The last few weeks have been … fun. A _lot_ of fun. And fun’s good, right?”

“You wanna keep having … fun?” she speculates.

“We could … call an amendment to Road Trip Rules,” he suggests carefully.

“How would we ...?”

“We’re smart. We can find a way.”

“Nate, I dunno. It’s Tree Hill. God ... the gossip.”

“Hey! I’m not saying we need to tell anyone!”

“Oh great! You’re ashamed of …”  
“Fuck no! I just … we don’t need the judgement. Or the complications from people that would have no business with it but would think they do.”

“Yeah. One in particular.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“And you don’t need that crap from her.”

“Her?”

“Haley.”  
“Huh! _Not_ who I meant. But yeah, I mean … she was paranoid enough about you after Lindsey got in her head, I guess.”

“Okay ... that’s a whole different conversation, which we never did have, by the way, but if you didn’t mean Haley …?”

“Lucas, of course.”

“What? Why? He’s married.”

“Yeah, but he still … he’ll have issues with us ‘cos he still has feeling for you, regardless. And even outside of that, he’d hassle me for _taking advantage of you in your vulnerable state_ , or some other crappy excuse for being a jealous jerk.”

“And Brooke would kick your ass for that, too.”

“Huh! She could try.”

“She’d be more successful than your brother,” she says with a lazy laugh.

“True! Those stilettos of hers are way hot, but they’d hurt.”

“Stilettos, huh?”

“God, yes. Got any?”  
“Might do.”

“Ever …?”

“What?” she asks, just knowing it’s going to be dirty.

“Kept them on, you know, while you’re ...?”

“Oh my God, it takes nothing to get you going!”

He grins boyishly, then there’s a quiet spell that’s not exactly awkward but …

“So,” he says. “Okay. I get why you’d query the not public thing but … don’t you think sneaking around would be kinda hot?”

“My God, Nathan. We’d be sprung in like five minutes.”

He nudges her hand on his thigh. “Only ‘cos you can’t keep your hands off me.”

“Coming from!” she retorts. “Look … I have a nosy roommate. People stop by your place unannounced all the time. How could we ...?”

“I know,” he says with a regretful note. “Be fun though ...”

“I’m not denying that it would be fun,” she sighs then her phone beeps and she laughs. “That’ll be the nosy roomie, guarantee it.”

It is, of course. Brooke’s chasing them up. Peyton tells her they’re not far off then ends the call and tells Nathan they really should get going.

“So?”

“I dunno, Nate. It’d be fun, but ...”

“Just … think about it?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

 

“Well, Davis,” Nathan says a couple of hours later, leaning back in his seat, “I’m pleasantly surprised. That was actually kind of delicious.”

“Why, thank you,” the brunette responds. “I’m _kind of_ liking this cooking for my family thing. We should so it more often.”

“The three of us?” Peyton asks.

“Yeah, we’re ... the originals, you know? Like … family. The three abandoned amigos with absent or useless parents. We’re family.”

Nathan nods. “That’d be cool. Me and two hot girls and good food. Win-win.”

Peyton reaches over and cuffs his ear. “Win-win for you maybe!”

“And you, Sawyer.”

“How is it a win for me?” she asks with a mock outraged tone.

“You get the food too. And you get to look at my pretty face.”

“Oh, I _missed_ you kids,” Brooke laughs. “No one in my New York office is as funny as you two. I really wanna keep doing this family dinner thing. Only problem is, I’m gonna be away so much for the next few months.”

“You are? How come?” her roommate asks.

“Yeah. Bitch-toria’s being ... well … a bitch. Go figure!  I need to be there to be a buffer between her and the team or I’m gonna start losing my best and brightest. I think I need to be there … probably every second week? Thank God for Millie being here. So, more dinners like this will be few and far between. Be nice if it _could_ be every week though.”

Nathan drums his fingertips on the table for a few moments then, being remarkably quick with a solution, slaps his plam down in an ‘uh-huh’ kind of gesture.

“How about you fly out every second Friday morning, come back Thursday morning? That’d give you 6 days straight but including the weekend. Half a day in the office at the weekend you get stacks done, more than a whole week day; Sawyer’s always saying that. Give you more time during the week to check in with your people. And we three get together Thursday nights for family dinner? I’ll take care of wine and stuff.”

“When did you get so smart, Scott?” Brooke asks, a stunned look on her face. “My God, that’d be perfect.” Brooke’s fired up, grabbing her phone to look ahead.

“And I’ll make sure everything is spick and span, B,” Peyton chips in. “No chores for you if you’re gonna be doing so much travelling. And if you want to practice cooking, you can send me a list of what you need and I’ll get it the day before. But if you don’t want to, no pressure, I’ll get takeout.”

“You guys!” Brooke exclaims, her eyes welling up a little. “You’d do that for me?”  
“What? You’re doing it for us!” Peyton protests. “You’re right; tonight’s been nice.”

“Just like the old days,” Brooke smiles, “well … except you two aren’t all over each other sucking face and groping.”

“Brooke!”

“P! You … you know,” Brooke muses thoughtfully,  “you actually seem okay.”

“Brooke, I _am_ okay. I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Road trip was productive?”

“ _Really_ productive. I’m gonna be crazy busy the next few weeks with follow up. Having a regular Thursday night get together with my two besties will be awesome. It’ll make me take a breath. And you too, B.”

“Crazy busy, huh?” the brunette asks with a light but suspicious laugh. “Throwing yourself into work to forget?”

“No. Throwing myself into work ‘cos I love it.”

Brooke looks at her, still a little doubtful. She wants to believe Peyton’s recovered, and she does seem to be doing well. She looks … healthy. Calm, even.  But …

“Nathan, promise me something?” she says, turning to her second oldest friend in the world.

“Whatever you need, Davis.”

“I need you to take care of my Peyton when I’m away. You know she’ll work herself into the ground. You’ll step up and take care of her, won’t you? Promise?”

“Oh, I think I can safely promise you that, Davis,” Nathan nods innocently. “I’ll take _really_ good care of her.”

Peyton, sitting next to Brooke and across from him, rolls her eyes at Nathan. She stands and clears the table, rinsing and stacking the dishwasher and turning it on while Brooke and Nathan continue to chat. But damn him! She’s really struggling not to just ogle him, especially after that little double entendre.

“You know what?” Peyton muses as she leaves the kitchen. “I feel like ice cream.”

“There’s some in the freezer, P.,” Brooke replies absently as her phone buzzes a couple of times in quick succession.

“Yeah. It’s vanilla. I feel like something different.”  
“Not me,” says Brooke. “I need to go do some email.”

“Nate?”  
“Nope. I’m good.”

“P., just have what’s in the freezer,” Brooke argues then sighs and starts tapping on her phone.

Peyton, walking towards the living room and past Nathan’s chair, takes a quick peek to see that Brooke is focussed on her screen, and trails her nails lightly across the back of Nathan’s neck, smiling to herself as he shrugs his right shoulder against her fingertips.

“I’m gonna pop out and see if the ice cream parlour at the pier has a flavour I tried in Greenville,” she says innocently. “It was just a teeny tiny taste but it was really delicious.”

“Actually,” Nathan says, standing quickly, “I think I _do_ feel like ice cream. I’ll go with you.”

She’s hassling him quietly, as they approach the car, that he was awfully quick to turn Brooke’s need to be in New York more often into the opportunity for them to … and he just smirks and says it was an awful shame that she’d have the house to herself about half the time from now on, wasn’t it?  

By the car, he stops her, holding her wrist in his large hand and raking his eyes over her. “Please, _please_ tell me _ice cream_ is code for getting it on,” he grins, raising his eyebrows and stroking his thumb over the soft skin of her inner wrist.

“Give me the keys,” she instructs, holding out her other hand, palm up.

“No.”

“Give me the keys, Scott,” she repeats, tucking her fingers into his belt right by the buckle, “and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Funnily enough, he hands them right over. At first, he has no idea where she’s heading, but after a few minutes driving she takes an unmarked left and heads up a narrow and twisting road that he hasn’t been on for a long, long time. Apparently, neither has anyone else; the shrubbery at the side of the road is overgrown and swishes against the sides of the car as she drives through.  When she pulls to a stop and gets out of the car to sit on the hood, he joins her, grinning again.

“This is our old spot,” he says. “The _other_ one; the ‘not on the beach’ one.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Is that okay?”  
“Well, you’ve been making me feel sixteen again, so yeah … seems appropriate.”

“Now … about that _ice cream_ …” she says suggestively.

He’s pushing her back on to the hood of the car in an instant, and after a few nights apart, they’re as glad as each other that she’s wearing a short skirt. And that this spot doesn’t ever seem to have been discovered by anyone else.  There’s something about the warm night air, and the stars just beginning to show, that make this little al fresco union (reunion) seriously hot.

“I haven’t been here for years,” he says into her ear a little later, as they’re both sitting on the car, looking out across the town they’ve both grown up in and tried to leave, but come back to. “The view’s gorgeous. I don’t think I ever really looked at it before.”

“That’s ‘cos you were too busy getting laid, you idiot. You never brought any …?” she stops. Not really her business.

“Anyone else here? No. I haven’t even been up her myself,” he answers then turns to look at her curiously. “Have _you_?”

“Yeah.”

“Jake?”

“No!”

“Please tell me not with my brother!?” It doesn’t seem right to him that she’d bring anyone else here, let alone Lucas. For all of his own faults, he’s always kept their spot on the beach, and this one, untouched, unshared with anyone else. Maybe that makes him sentimental, but, even being the bitchy, angsty teenager that she was, he would have put money on her doing the same.

“No! Not _with_ anyone.”

“On your own and thinking about me in the old days, Sawyer? Reliving our misspent youth?”

She doesn’t answer his teasing comment and that gets him studying her closely.

“Sawyer? When?”

“A few times. Um … almost a year ago?”

“I don’t get it. Why here?”

“It was the first few weeks I was driving you to rehab,” she admits quietly.

“And?”

“It … it was hard seeing you like that, Nathan. I tried just thinking about how you were before the accident, but someone would always interrupt - usually Brooke thinking I was getting all, you know, _pathetic_ over Lucas. So, I’d come here so I could just think … and picture you strong and healthy and like you were … recovered.”

“Okay. Still not sure I get why.”

“So that I could keep doing the driving, I guess. So that I didn’t get ... I dunno ...”

“So that you could keep being strong for me?” he asks, tilting her chin up.

“I guess. Something like that.”

She looks away but he takes her face in his hands and turns her back to look at him.

“Peyt, I didn’t realise that was hard for you. I’m … well, I’m not sorry. Because you got me through. But I’m even more grateful. And look. I’m here. And I’m stronger than ever.”

She shakes the thoughts away, places her hands over his and winks.

“Stronger than ever, huh? I think I’m gonna need you to prove it, stud.”

“Yeah?”

“Back seat. Now.”

On the way home, completely without warning, she chuckles to herself, then laughs out loud.

“What?” he asks

“Just something you said earlier.”  
“What!?”

“I was thinking I might buy myself some turquoise stilettos,” she says with a smile and an arched brow.

“Yes,” he answers swiftly. “God, yes. Please.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realisation or two; Nathan and Peyton about an aspect of their past and Lucas about his present and future.

The first-time Peyton heads out to the beach house to stay, Brooke having left that morning to head back to New York, she catches a cab, taking with her a compact overnight bag that had sat under her desk at the office all day.  She must have kicked it a dozen times during the day, and every time her toes hit the bag, she’d found herself smiling at the thought of the night ahead. When the suggestive texts started rolling in from Nathan, she’d found it increasingly difficult to concentrate, until she finally gave in and closed the office an hour or so early. She’d sent an ‘on the way’ text to Nathan and couldn’t help but laugh when his reply was a simple ‘thank God’.  He meets her at the door wearing jeans and no shirt, and she’s barely inside before he’s taking her bag from her hand, throwing it on the couch and leading her wordlessly upstairs. When she laughs at his state of half dress, he tells her that she’s most definitely _overdressed_ for what he has in mind.

Later, _much_ later, although they still haven’t moved from his bed, he asks her, a little coyly, if she remembers the first time he brought her to the beach house.

“Of course,” she replies, fanning her fingers over his chest and tucking her leg over his. “It was delicious.”  
“Delicious?” he asks in amusement. “That’s a new way of describing it.”

“Ice cream is always delicious,” she replies smoothly, coyly, innocently; very aware that they are speaking of different occasions.

“Ice cream?”

She’s taking the ice cream metaphor a little far now, he thinks.

“We were 7,” she explains with a laugh. “My Mom and your Mom arrived to pick us up from school at the same time and Deb was taking you for ice cream, then coming here for a swim. You asked my Mom if I could go with you.”

“I did?”

“You did. You were such a womaniser, even at 7 years old.”

“Wow. I really wish I remembered that.”

“I’m sure your Mom will have a photo. She took photos of her _sweet_ _little boy_ doing _everything_.”

“Oh, good Lord, do not remind me of that stage.”  
“It might be cute if she has a photo of that though.”

“Maybe. Just as well she won’t have a photo of the time I was actually thinking of,” he teases, his palm resting on her hip and his fingers tapping a steady rhythm.

“True.”  
“So you _do_ remember that?”

“Yeah. It may not have been the first time I came to the beach house but it …”  
“… was your _first time_ ,” he says against her lips. “It was amazing, Peyton.”

“You kind of made it ...”  
“Awesome?” he chuckles.

“You!” she laughs, hitting his arm. “Your ego! No … well … yes, probably, but that’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say you made it easy, but then I thought that’s a bit …”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “And I made it anything but easy later on.”

“Nathan. We’ve covered this.”  
“I know. But … you told me once about what you said when Lucas asked you why you stayed with me. _Sometimes it was good; sometimes there was no one else_. That’s what you said, right?”

“Yeah. I said that.”

“Did you mean sometimes _we_ were good, like when I wasn’t fooling around with someone else or being a dick? Or did you mean sometimes it was good because otherwise you’d have been alone and you _had_ no one else?”

She pulls away from him and sits up, pulling the sheets up and tucking them under her arms, then just … sits there and watches him curiously.

“Peyt?”

“You …”  
“Shit! I didn’t mean to upset you …”

“No! You haven’t. I just …”  
“What, babe?”

“You know? When I said that … I know what way Lucas interpreted it; that I was lonely, that I stayed with you because I was lonely and because you were there, that there w _asn’t_ anyone else so I’d take you. I know that’s how he read what I said.”  
“And?”  
“I don’t think he even thought about the fact that there _was_ another way to interpret it.”

“I really don’t care how _he_ interpreted it. I care about how _you_ meant it.”

“Nathan, I may have had a Dad that was away a lot, and I couldn’t do much about that. And I may have limited my friend options to Brooke and not many others; that was a conscious choice. But if you’re asking about guys? I _always_ had other options.”  
“Like?”

“I’m not naming names. It’s ancient history. But every time you fooled around _on_ me, someone would try it on _with_ me; asking me out, or hitting on me at parties. I could have had someone else if I’d wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She thinks, for a moment, that he’s fishing for compliments, but when she looks back at him, she sees very clearly that he’s just genuinely curious as to _why_ she never turned the tables on him. So, she’s honest.

“Because there were some really good times. And … basically because I didn’t _want_ anyone else, Nathan.”

“Until Lucas came along.”  
“That’s not really fair. You make it sound like I left you for him.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just … I didn’t really want anyone else either. I still don’t really understand why I did all that stupid stuff.”  
“You mean why you _did_ all those stupid _girls_?” she says, acerbically.

“I … well … yeah,” he concedes. “Why the hell did you put up with me for so long?”

“Why do you think?”  
“I have no idea!” he exclaims, his hands raising and dropping to the mattress. “That’s why I’m asking!”  
“Because I _loved_ you, you idiot.”

All he can do is shake his head. He _was_ an idiot. And sure, they’d said their teenaged _I love yous_ often enough. He knows now he never really understood how much she meant it, and how much she had had truly backed it up with her actions. And how much he _should_ have backed up his words, and didn’t. He also knows he has every intention of doing things differently this time. _This time?_ He really can’t get into thinking what that might mean. Nor why he called her _babe_ a few minutes ago.

“Don’t take any shit from me,” he says suddenly.

“What?”  
“I don’t mean I’ll fool around. I won’t. Cast iron guarantee. But just … don’t take any shit from me. You took way too much. I know teenaged girls probably don’t have the confidence or gumption ... or whatever … to stand up and not take that shit. You do now. You didn’t stand up to Luke though. I know you’re even tougher now so I’m saying … don’t take any shit from me, this time.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding. This time? She really can’t, or rather won’t, get to into thinking what he might mean by that.  She’ll just take this as it comes. Enjoy the company, and the really, really great sex, while it’s there.

“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”

 

 

**Three weeks later, still August**

He really didn’t like flying. Not afraid. Just didn’t like the feeling of the air. The sense of being sardines in a can. He looks left for a moment. Lindsey, his _wife_ , was asleep next to him.  He seemed to spend an awful lot of time watching her sleep. Which meant he spent an awful lot of the night awake. Not sleeping. Not _able_ to sleep. Not at peace. The revelation he’d had on his wedding night was still echoing in his head eight weeks later. At night, anyway. During the day, he’d banished it.

During the mornings and afternoons there had been sightseeing and incredible food and, thankfully, noise; voices and accents and atmosphere that banished his thoughts. And shopping, _so_ much shopping. When had Lindsey become a shopper? Was she always? God, the bags he’d carried. The extra suitcases they’d had to buy. All these terribly elegant dresses, skirts, blouses, shoes … all very big city. All perfect … for New York.

Late afternoon and early evenings had been for wine. It was Europe; Italy, France, Spain. The perfect opportunity to sample and learn about the local drops, right? Enough to dull his senses. Enough to make him able to respond without flinching. Enough to make him even initiate, on occasion; often enough to avoid suspicion. The nights, after his wife was asleep, had been for a Scotch, or three, sitting in a hotel room armchair and watching her or (better) on a hotel room patio watching the lights.

He startles and looks up to find a flight attendant waiting for his reply, her green eyes smiling.

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

“Would you like a drink, Sir?”  
When did he become a Sir?

“Um. Yes, thanks. Scotch?”

“Certainly. Something for your wife?”  
He glances at Lindsey.

“No,” he answers, “she’ll sleep for hours yet, I think.”

“You’re not able to sleep on planes?”

“No.” Or much at all. Ever. She passes him the drink and smiles with those green eyes. Beautiful eyes. Really beautiful.

A momentary vision flashes through his head. Following that attendant into the curtained off area. Baling her up against a wall. Pressing his lips into the pulse at her neck, his hip into hers, his palms into her breasts and ass, inhaling her, making her gasp, her voice in his ear. _Lucas. God, Luke. Now._

But it’s not the attendant’s voice in his ear, or her green eyes blinking slowly at him. It’s not the attendant’s legs around his hips. It’s not the attendant’s fingers on his shirt buttons, his fly, in his hair, in his mouth, stroking him over his boxers, then inside them.

He takes a long swallow of the Scotch. Checks his watch. Five hours. In five hours, he’ll be landing. _They’ll_ be landing. The newlywed Scotts. In New York. Another few before they land in Tree Hill. He has half a day or so. Half a day to banish the ghosts. He’s a husband. He’s a grown up.  He’s Lucas Scott, bestselling author, married to Lindsey Strauss. Lindsey _Strauss-Scott_. He can do this; live this life. He will do this. He has half a day to don the armour and become gallant. He’s a _Sir_ after all. The flight attendant knows it. Waiters know it. Retail staff know it. His old life is gone and _her_ with it. He will steel himself. He will be a good husband to Lindsey. He will be a good brother. A good son. A good friend. He will be good. He will live a good life. It won’t be _his_ life. It won’t be the life he was meant to live. But he’ll live it.

He takes another long swallow. They’d have the days; his wife, Mom, siblings, friends. But he’d have the nights. He’d have the nights without sleep but with the memories. Memories of legs and curls and green, green eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peyton "allows" Keller to persuade her to leave the office early on a gorgeous Thursday afternoon. With Brooke still in New York and the house to themselves, she decides to let Nathan in on her secret sunbathing spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning; more racy stuff. I still think the Mature warning is okay but let me know if not.

It’s a really gorgeous Thursday and she’s tempted to not go into the studio. She’s done killer hours all week, in fact for _all_ of the three weeks she’s been back from the road trip. But she’s building a business so she does the right thing and is at her desk by 7am and more than a little surprised to find she’s getting a pile of stuff done.

When she stops to make a well-deserved coffee, she contemplates how busy the last week has been, so much so that she hasn’t even seen Nathan since Sunday night and she knows he’d grin with satisfaction if he knew how much she was climbing the walls. That man is way too attractive, way too _addictive_ , for his own good. Well, make that for _her_ own good.

But there have been phone calls, the last couple of which involved him commenting, more than once, that having a friend with benefits was _all very well_ , but if he never saw said friend it was a bit hard (or rather difficult, because it had been two days, then four days, since _anything, if she got his drift,_ was hard) to get the benefits. She’d answered along the lines of ‘diddums-widdums, you’re Nathan Scott, I’m sure there’s a willing girl in your little black book if you care to look.’

He’d laughed at that. But when she’d ended the call he’d been left thinking that _that_ was the thing; he didn’t _want_ to look. He didn’t want just any ‘willing girl’. Right now, he only wanted her.

By midday she’s extremely happy with the ticks on the ‘to do’ list and it takes Keller only five minutes to persuade her to go home and catch some sun.

“Seriously, Goldilocks,” he starts, “it’s been more than two weeks of glorious sunshine and you haven’t seen any of it. There’s Vitamin D in sunlight, you know, stops you getting rickets … or scurvy … or something. Anyway, for your health, and mine, go and catch some rays.”

“For _your_ health?” she asks sarcastically.  
“Yeah. A surplus of kickass business chick Sawyer induces feelings of fondness in Chris Keller towards said business chick Sawyer. And if those feelings of fondness should bubble over and manifest themselves, I’d be duty bound to try something with you and you’d end up beating on me.”

“Really? Business _chick_? And the third person thing is back; this is _not_ a good thing. But ...” she continues, putting on a stern face, “as your employer, I must take occupational health and safety seriously.”

“Indeed. It’s your duty, nay! Your _legal_ _responsibility_. So … you need to go.”

“You just want me to leave so you can raid the bar and fall asleep on the couch.”

“Pleading the fifth.”

“For your _health_?”  
“Indeed. You leaving, or what?”

“I’m leaving. And … I’m having a long weekend too. See you Monday, Chris.”

“A long weekend? Praise be to Jesus! Monday, it is. Get some sun on that body, girl.  Um … _boss_.”

And _that_ gives her a very good idea.

She stops on the way home for a chilled six-pack of his favourite bottled beer, puts all but two in the fridge when she arrives, heads upstairs with the other two, hitting speed dial 2 on her phone. Just as she thinks it’ll go to voicemail, he answers, sounding breathless.

“Nathan Scott.”

“Hey. You sound out of breath. Find one of those willing girls?”

He laughs at her cheeky tone, and because her voice just makes him want to laugh when she’s making sarcastic, suggestive jibes like that.

“Hey stranger. Long time, no see.”

“We talked last night!”

“That’s not seeing.” He lowers his voice before he continues. “It would’ve been if you’d taken the photo I asked you to, then sent it to me.”

“That was a very pervy request, and you know it. Why are you whispering? Where are you?”

“I was at the Rivercourt shooting around and Luke turned up. They’re back. We’re playing a little one on one.”

“Hope you’re whipping his ass?” she asks with a light tone.

“You know it,” he chuckles. “So, what’s up?”

“Oh … I was just thinking about something you said.”

“Something brilliant, no doubt?” he replies cockily.

“Well … on the road trip, you made an observation that I didn’t have any tan lines. Remember?”

And his mind has gone right to that shower, and her long limbs, and toned flat stomach, and the golden swell of her breasts and the gentle curve of her hips and behind.

“You still there, Scott?”

“Um … yeah … I remember.”

“And it’s been such gorgeous sunbathing weather lately, but I’ve spent every daylight hour at the office. So today … I kinda cut out early.”

“And?”

“I thought I’d do a little work on topping up that tan.”

“This afternoon?”

“Mmm … right now in fact.”

“Now?” He gulps. His brother is calling him and he turns and yells that he’s busy for a few minutes, that this is an important call. On the other end of the line, he hears Peyton chuckle. Damn. Now Luke is standing next to him, and he’s going to have to be exceedingly careful what he says.

“Mmm,” she repeats. “You know that turquoise bra you like so much?”

“Uh-huh. Is that on?”

“Well it _was,”_ she says thoughtfully. “But it just came off.”

“Where are you?” he demands.

“My favourite sunbathing spot. And oh look … I’ve got two cold beers, with another four on ice.”

“What else is … on?”

“Umm ... well you don’t get a _no lines tan_ if anything’s on, do you?” she replies as if it’s a no-brainer.

“So … nothing?” he gulps, casting a look sideways towards his brother.

“Does jewellery count?” she asks with a light tone.

“No. It does not count.”

“Then I guess nothing it is.”

“Is there anyone else …? I thought I heard …”

“Voices in the distance? Yeah.”

“Umm …” Dammit. He _really_ needs to know where she is. And who can see her. But he can’t ask without walking away from his brother and of course that won’t look suspicious _at all._

“You want to know if it’s public but you can’t ask ‘cos Lucas can hear you?”  
“Correct.” Man, she’s good.

“It could sort of be classed as public, or semipublic, but no one can see. Just as well really.”

“Why’s that? What are you doing?”

“It’s just that it’s so warm already ...”  
“And?” he presses.  
“Hot skin. Cold beer bottle.”

“Where?”  
“Stomach. Moving up.” No. He takes it back. She’s not good. She’s bad. Really, _really_ bad.

“Where did you say you are?” he pushes, with just a little desperation creeping in.

“My favourite sunbathing spot,” she repeats with a breathy laugh.

“And that is …?”

“Have you ever been upstairs in Brooke’s house?”

Her tone is ever so conversational and he’s sure she’s changing the subject to torment him just a bit longer.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Have you?”

“No! Now where …”

“There’s another bathroom, two more bedrooms, a big deck …”

“You can _see_ that from the river!” Damn. Lucas is looking at him rather curiously now.

“True. But the _visible_ deck’s not where I am. Mmmmmm,” she sighs contentedly.

“What?”  
“I’ve gone all goose bumpy from that cold beer bottle.”

“Tell me now,” he insists, trying to keep an even tone and volume to his voice. And she finally caves.

“Little balcony off the second bedroom. _Very_ private. You know, it’s great for a no line tan, but I’m thinking it’s be just perfect for a little _benefitting_ too. Or maybe a lot. How many days did you say I _owed_ you as of yesterday?”

“Four. But it’s five now.”

“Well then …”

“Twenty minutes?” he suggests almost breathlessly.

“Geeze. Take that long and I’m starting without you,” she teases.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” she purrs. “You don’t need twenty minutes to get here.”

“Hot. Sweaty. Need a shower,” he says quietly, turning his back further on his brother.

“You’re going to be hotter and sweatier soon,” she argues, pauses for a moment then, with a little chuckle, brings out the pearler from years ago. “Nathan? Don’t bother showering.”

“See you in ten.” He hits the red button and is gathering up his gear instantly. His brother hears the call end.

“Hey, man. You back on?”  
“Nah. Sorry Luke, gotta go.”

“You said your afternoon was clear.”

“Yeah. Something ... ah ... came up.”

“Something big?”  
“You could say that, yeah,” he laughs at the unintended double entendre.

“Oh … well. I hope it goes well, I guess.” He’s puzzled at Nathan’s lack of explanation, and more than a little curious.

“I think I can safely say it’ll go extremely well.”

He’s in Brooke’s front door and locking it behind him nine minutes after leaving the Rivercourt. Twenty seconds later he’s parting the billowing gauzy curtains in the second upstairs bedroom and taking the beer that she passes him with her eyebrow quirked. It’s a very small balcony, with a rail that is overgrown all around; enough greenery to screen it off perfectly.

“You made good time,” she comments.

“You make good viewing,” he retorts, stepping out onto the balcony.

“Ah ... no.”

“What?”

“Line-free tanning zone. You can’t come out here fully dressed.”

“Trust me, babe, I have no intention of being fully dressed when I come,” he quips, quick as a flash.

“Oh well ... you let me know how that works out for you,” she retorts dismissively.

She wriggles along on her thick beach towel a little, then carefully places a heel on the railing so the leg closest to him is elegantly, temptingly stretched out. She puts the bottom of her beer bottle on her hip bone then slowly draws it up her body until it’s resting between her breasts, her eyes closed all the while.

“You’re a tease.”

“No,” she disagrees without opening her eyes. “Teases don’t deliver.”

She turns her head and opens her eyes, looking at him dead on. “You know I’ll deliver. You just have to play by the no lines tanning zone rules.”

His clothes are in a pile on the floor within seconds and his beer’s put aside as he lowers his body onto hers. The heel that she had on the railing is in the small of his back and she’s drawing that beer bottle from that same spot up his back to his shoulder and back down. His mouth is on her collarbone, her throat, her jaw, pulling at the nipple on her left breast, then the right, then plundering her mouth. He’s not touching her any other way as he’s in a half press up, trying to keep from pushing her back onto that hard patio tile. _Her_ hands though? She’s put that bottle down and her slightly chilled palms and fingers are doing crazy things to the skin on his back, round to his chest, abs, pelvic bones, then, as her hands warm up, down to … and oh God, she’s got him teetering on the brink in moments. He trails fiery kisses up to her ear.

“You need to stop that, Sawyer … or slow it down.”

“Nope.”

“Seriously. I’m not going to last if you keep ...”  
“I know. Me too.”

He raises an eyebrow, leans his weight to one side and trails two fingers down her body from her shoulder, over her nipple, stopping to draw a couple of circles, down her belly, over her hip and between her legs. All the while he doesn’t break eye contact.

“Fuck, you’re wet.”

She giggles at him. “Master of stating the obvious, Scott.”

He pushes his fingers into her and draws them out slowly, then pushes in again.

“You _actually_ started without me?” he accuses.

“No.”

“Right, so that smutty little phone conversation got you all fired up?” he asks with a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Maybe.”

He’s still rhythmically pushing his fingers into her core, then slowly, slowly drawing out and repeating.

“You liked getting me going knowing I couldn’t really talk back, didn’t you?” he demands.

“Maybe. Oh God …”

“Say it, baby,” he mutters near her ear. “Say my name. Tell me I’m about to make you come.”

“Oh God.”

He draws his fingers completely out and she can feel them right there but he’s holding back and denying her. She tries to push his hand closer to her but he’s so strong she doesn’t have a hope.

“Nathan.” His name’s a sigh, a breath, a plea on her lips.

“What do you want me to do to you, babe?”

“That.”

“You want my fingers back inside you?” he mutters against her ear.

“God, yes.”  
“Like this?” He pushes in again, thrusting and swirling.

“Just like that. Just … now ... baby ...”

“Say it or I’ll stop,” he demands.

“Nate. _Nathan_. God. Keep … I’m … keep … going. Keep ...”

She’s pure perfection when she’s like this, he thinks. Warm, golden skin, head thrown back, complete abandon, his name on her lips again. He waits just until the shudders through her body are barely abating, then he’s reaching across to his discarded clothing, finding the necessary protection, driving his tongue between those perfectly parted lips and replacing his fingers with a few well-timed thrusts that have her shuddering all over again. She tilts her hips up sharply so he can thrust deeper, harder and her fingertips are pressing into his hard buttocks, urging him on. Her green eyes lock onto his and there’s suddenly an intense tremble running through him that pushes him over and he’s exploding into her, completely unable to break that gaze.

A little later, she throws his work out shirt on and races downstairs to get the rest of the six-pack. When she returns, he’s pulled the pillows off the bed and used them to soften the patio floor. He’s sitting up, leaning against the railing looking quite smug. She passes him a beer and straddles his thighs.

“You look rather pleased with yourself,” she observes.

“I think I did good work today,” he agrees, bringing his hands to rest on her hips.

“Oh yeah? Did you tick off most of your ‘to do’ list by midday like I did?”

“What’s the time now?”

“Dunno. One-ish?”

“Then I ticked off _all_ of my ‘to do’ list by one-ish,” he says with an air of accomplishment.

“You’ve been mucking about with a basketball all morning. What was on your ‘to do’ list?”

“To do number one: Work out at River Court. Done. Tick, plus bonus points for whipping brother’s ass on basketball court. Welcome back, Lucas. Number two: Do you. Done. Tick. And by the way, never refer to it as mucking about with a basketball again, young lady, or you’ll be … punished.”

“You think you’re so clever but I think you’re forgetting something,” she says, ignoring his poor attempt at a dirty joke.

“Nope. Don’t think so.”

“Oh ... you are,” she says smugly, running her hands through his hair.

“Enlighten me then.”

“You said five days to make up for. I count only one so far.”

“Depends how you count,” he counters, just as smugly as she.

“One is one.”

“You came twice.”

“That’s cheating!”

“You complaining, woman?”

“Hell no. I’ll take a two to one ratio on an ongoing basis if you insist.”

“Well … you know ... what can I do when just talking to me gets you going …”

She cuts him off with a hard, probing assault on his mouth. Fairly quickly, she can feel him rising beneath her, and she laughs against his lips.

“You can talk, Scott. One kiss from me and you’re raring to go.”

“One kiss, plus you’re _straddling_ me, plus you’re wearing my work out shirt _and nothing else_ , with ...” he stops.

“With?”  
“With your thighs pressing into mine.”

“And?”

“You’re deliberately brushing your … soft parts against my … hard parts.”

“I can remedy that.”

“And how do you propose to do that Dr. Sawyer?”

“I take those big strong hands of yours and put them here,” she intones as she takes his hands and places them under the shirt so he’s cupping her ass.

“Okay,” he smirks, “I can see how that would help.”

“And you sort of push me up and forward just a little while I do this.”

She leans forward to tease his earlobe with her lips, teeth and tongue while she swiftly tears open another small foil pack and deals with it.

“And then what?”  
“Then I do this.”

She rotates her hips, circling then guides herself onto him, slowly lowering down until he’s completely inside her. She places her hands on his shoulders, then runs them down over his biceps to his upturned inner forearms. She starts to lean back a little, and when he looks at her with a question in his eyes, she grins, raises her eyebrow, briefly looks down at the hem of that work out shirt then meets his gaze again and nods firmly.

He catches his breath and his eyes flash in recognition. If she means what he thinks she means, this was a favourite of his, years ago, when they used to cut out from algebra or chem and lose themselves in the back seat of his car. A favourite, but very _occasional_ , thing that drove him nuts.

Back then, it took her months to let him, to trust him enough to lean back and let him watch their bodies as he thrust into her. He hadn’t had the words to explain that it wasn’t some creepy mind fuck, that he wasn’t trying to make her feel cheap. He was just … visual … and the thought of it had been in his head for weeks. She was so incredible that the actuality of it was even better than he could have imagined, well … than he _had_ imagined. And really, even then, he couldn’t believe he got to have her, to push into her and make her shake with wanting him. Eventually, she understood what he couldn’t say, that he wasn’t trying to be weird … he just wanted her so much that he needed to _see_ it.

After the first time, when he watched their joining, while she leant back and felt him thrust up into her, she could see how overcome he was, how intense it was for him. And she found to her great surprise that it didn’t make her feel small, like she thought it might, but rather strong, and wanted, desired and powerful. He said then that he’d never done that with anyone else. Something told her that was still the case, at least … she kind of hoped so. They’d had a signal, really. She’d look down her own body and press her fingers into his shoulders and give him that short, sharp nod, letting him know when she was comfortable enough for him to raise whatever she was wearing to afford him that intimate view. Usually she just felt too … something … to even think about it letting him gaze upon her that way. But sometimes, when she felt sexy and good, and probably when he hadn’t been too much of ass lately, when they were about to … she’d give him the touch and the look, and his eyes would flash with excitement and he’d instantly be even more turned on.

It drove him wild as a teenager, and it absolutely guaranteed the eponymous “quickie” that skipping class demanded. It made him fast, frantic. God, he loved those short, pleated skirts she used to wear; they were perfect for it. Just once, he recalled, he’d been completely gobsmacked when after getting that look from her and getting a massive buzz out of the subsequent hot and heavy session, he’d felt so confident that he’d tried something even more risque. And she’d agreed to not to put her underwear back on before they went back into school. Well, to be fair, he’d put them in his jeans pocket and told her she’d have to go in and get them if she wanted them. But she’d taken the challenge. And for the rest of the day he’d been in a state of semi arousal thinking about her walking around like that. He was pretty sure she’d deliberately dropped her books in front of him twice so that he’d dive to pick them up rather than have anyone else get a gawk at what he considered _his_ and his alone. He thinks that was the only day he ever called in sick to basketball practice when he wasn’t. Instead he followed her back to her place, plunged into her right inside the front door and then again at the top of the stairs. Then, once he’d calmed down and had a modicum of control back, he’d slowly, carefully, attentively made love to her in her bed, making her both cry _and_ cry out.

Here and now, he thinks she just gave him that signal; the touch and the look. The nod. But it was all so long ago. And that’s not something he would ever assume now, but his body had just responded instantly. And he knows she felt that surge.

“Did you just …?”

She leans forward again, slowly circling her hips as he does, and murmurs near his ear.

“Did I just what?”

“No. It’s …”

“You know, if you can’t _say_ it, you can’t _do_ it …” she sing-songs near his ear.

“Fuck,” he moans. “You did.”

“I did what?”

“You gave me that old look.”

“What look would that be?”

He’s quiet and she repeats into his ear. “Nate, if you can’t say it …”

“The ‘go ahead to watch’ look?” There’s just a tiny hint of a question at the end of that.

He’s incredibly nervous about putting it out there, but also so turned on it’s insane. He feels like that sixteen-year-old kid again. He can feel her mouth smiling against his neck. “So, you remember that look?”

“How could I not?”

“I gave you the look, Nathan,” she confirms.

“Peyton. That’s really …”

“You want to?”

“Fuck yes. But that’s so … intimate."

She looked at him, her head tilted to one side. “And all the other stuff we’re doing isn’t intimate?”

“Of course. it is, but …”

“I know you like it. You _really_ like it. And I trust you more now than I did then. So …”

He shifts his hands a little under her behind, making sure he’s got her weight safely held. She leans back again, just a little, inviting him with her eyes to continue. With his thumbs at the small of her back, he gathers back the fabric of the work out shirt, so that it pulls up in front.  The sight of her thighs either side of his and the way their bodies are fitting together, the way she slips up and down, the way his hands on her ass are helping to control her speed and the depth of each thrust. It’s all an incredible turn on and he can’t believe she’s being this open, this trusting.

He can feel her thumbs digging into his arm and knows she’s getting close again. He presses the bottom of his palms up to angle her hips up a little and tip her back a little more. He couldn’t have done this back then but he’s so much stronger in the arms now. He looks into those green eyes with a silent question and she nods slightly. He almost withdraws then thrusts back in hard, fast and deep. She gasps, but urges him on with a squeeze to his arms. He pushes hard, again and again, then releases a deep moan as he feels waves roll over her and on to him. One final thrust up and she’s collapsing onto him, panting against his shoulder.

When his own breathing is under control again, he takes her face, holds it between his palms and places a brief but slightly open-mouthed kiss on her lips.

“I haven’t done that since I was sixteen,” he tells her quietly, almost shyly.

Somehow, he just senses she wanted to know it was _their_ move. Without naming names, he’s told her what she wanted to hear and the resulting grin from her has him chuckling deep in his chest. They’ve been close for years and looked out for each of course, but he just got a real charge out of making her feel good. And he’s absolutely stoked that _she_ feels that good about something that makes _him_ feel so damned good. He likes it; this feeling. He likes it a lot.

“Actually,” she ponders, “not even at sixteen. Not like that. It was an ‘in the back-seat thing’ with your legs down and me resting on your thighs, not you taking almost my whole weight on your arms and hands. Now, your upper body strength’s ... incredible.” She runs her fingertips appreciatively up his biceps.

“It helps that you’re such a featherweight,” he points out.

“I’m sticking with my thing. You got some serious guns there, Scott.”

“You like, huh?” he asks with a proud smirk.

“Well, they’re pretty damned good as far as guns go,” she says, laughing at his ridiculous pride, “but they’ll never be my favourite part of you.”

“Oh, I _know_ what your favourite part of me is, girl.”

“You do, huh? Enlighten me.”

She grins as she parrots his words from earlier, and grins even more as Nathan quirks his eyebrow suggestively and casts his eyes downwards.

“Nope. It’s always been your chest,” she corrects him, fanning her hands over his pecs.

“Oh.”

“But I’m kinda keen on the rest of this hot bod too, Scott.”

“It does seem to serve your needs rather well,” he says drily.

Her eyes flash with humour and they both laugh.

“Wanna know my favourite part of you?” he asks

“I’m not sure. Maybe not,” she half cringes.

“Here,” he almost whispers as he trails his fingertips over her hip bone and the little dip below it. “Those low-rise jeans you used to wear drove me nuts.”

They lie side by side for a while, soaking up the warmth of the sun. After some time, she turns on to her side and looks at him searchingly, a small smile playing on her lips.

“What?” he asks.

“I just … this is going to sound ... I dunno … mushy. Or something.”

“What?” he asks again, curious now.

“I just kinda like that we’re being … appreciative _now_ of the good stuff that we had _back then_.”

“You mean admitting that it wasn’t all asshole and bitch?”

“Yeah. Is that too …?”

“No, he smiles. “No it’s not too anything. I like it too. It’s good. Healthy, I think.”

“When did we get so grown up?” They both chuckle again.

“Not too grown up, I hope.” And he starts tracking his finger tip up and down her inner thigh, where he knows she’s ticklish if the pressure is too light. And of course, he’s making sure it’s too light. Her rare, completely uninhibited giggle washes over him, then is interrupted by a voice from below them.

“Yo! P. Sawyer. You up there, skinny girl?”

She covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide open.

“Baby girl? I heard that sexy giggle of yours. You up on that little balcony thing reading something funny?”

Nathan pushes her up to standing and she leans forward to the railing, making sure not too much is visible. Her ‘beneficial’ friend swings up to sit next to her, his back against the greenery covered railing, still hidden from the intruder below. She pops her head over the railing. Skills has clearly come around the side of the house to the back yard, having had no luck getting a response to his knocking on the, unusually for here and amongst their wider group, locked front door. But Nathan’s been nagging at both Brooke and Peyton; they’ve caved and now keep the front door locked when ‘home alone’.

Skills grins up at her and, placing his hand on his chest, quotes, or deliberately misquotes, from that most famous of balcony scenes.

_“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and P. Sawyer is the sun!”_

“Skills Taylor! Shakespeare?”

Nate runs his hand up and down her leg, almost absentmindedly, and she throws him a quick grin.

“I ain’t doing that whole pansy speech, P., but you know I could if I wanted to. You weren’t the only kid in AP English.”

“You are full of surprises, Skills!”

“Do the _Ay me_.”

 _“Ay me.”_ She’s a little pitchy in her tone, mainly because Nathan’s hand has successfully wandered slowly higher up her naked legs, though she’s trying to swat him away without creating too much of a kerfuffle.

_“She speaks. O speak again bright angel for thou art as glorious to the night being o’er my head as in a winged messenger of heaven.”_

While Skills lampoons below, Nathan is palming her ass with one hand and teasing, taunting her with his other fingertips inching their way closer towards their goal.

“Damn you’re good,” Peyton calls down to Skills.

“Oh yes I am,” murmurs Nathan very quietly, sliding a finger into her, grinning as she gulps.

“Um … how’d you know I was here, Skills?”

“Called by the studio. Keller told me you’d finally taken a couple hours off. Thought you’d like to grab a coffee, P. Sawyer. We haven’t even caught up properly since you got back from your big ol’ road trip.”

“Say no,” demands Nathan very quietly. He’s distracted so she finally succeeds in pulling his hand away from between her legs, but he immediately starts kissing and licking right where his hand was.

“I dunno, Skills …”  
“There can be cake,” her friend replies.

“Oh God,” she gasps. Nathan’s just put his tongue somewhere he really shouldn’t have when she’s trying to retain some semblance of decorum, and she pushes his head away.

“Wow,” says Skills, “you really need cake, huh?”  
She laughs, desperately trying to cover. “A girl always needs cake, Skills,”

“Alrighty!” Skills exclaims.

“Um. I … well, okay … but I kinda need to grab a quick shower. I’m a bit hot.”

“A bit?” comes the quiet question against her skin, from the man next to her on the balcony. He tips her hips a little so his lips can continue their way up her legs, and inadvertently pitches her forward against the rail a little when she feels his tongue against her entrance, again.

“You little devil, girl,” comes the amused comment from Skills.

“Wh-what?”

“Topless sunbathing, huh?”

She looks down, worried.

“Don’t stress,” Skills assures her. “All I can see is your shoulders … and damn fine shoulders they be too, girl. So … your patio doors are open; I’ll hang in the kitchen while you grab that shower.”

He heads inside and, once he’s out of sight, Peyton turns and slaps Nate’s head away.

“You!”

“That was … fun.”

“Geeze. Shakespeare from Skills and a B grade porn movie from you ... simultaneously!”

“Nothing B grade about me, babe. Serves you right for not saying no ro cake with another man.”

“ _You_ made me sound like I was saying yes! And as much as I hate to walk away from what you were doing _just then_ , thanks to that, I need to get in the shower _now_.”

Nathan stands, takes her hand and leads her inside.

“ _What_ are you doing?” she asks.

“I can’t think of any reason why I can’t finish what I was doing _just then_ while you shower.”

“I need to be ready quickly,” she protests.

“I think I’ve already proven I can make you be ready _very_ quickly.”

“But …”

He just shakes his head at her, continues to push her into the bathroom, turns on the shower and pushes her back under it while it’s still cold.

“God, that’s freezing!” she protests in a loud whisper, slapping his arm.

“But you said you were a bit hot; I’m trying to help,” he responds all innocence.

“I _so_ owe you for that.”

“No. Right now _I_ owe _you_ , and you’re about to collect.”

“What?”

“Seriously? That … Peyton, giving me that look … giving me _that_? That was the sexiest thing ever, I think.”

 _“Ever?”_ she asks archly.

“Maybe it’s about to be surpassed.”

The water’s warmed up and he grabs the shower head from its holder and starts sluicing water over her.

“Mmmm,” she sighs, “this is really good service.”

“You keep walking into the smutty retorts, you know; you really shouldn’t use words like ‘service’ when I’m about to do what I’m about to do.”

“Which is?”

“Finishing what I started out there.”

“You’re not serious!?” she exclaims. “I have to ...”

“Oh, I’m serious.”

“Can’t you just hang out here and we can resume when I get back?”

“We’ll be doing that too,” he shrugs. “We’ve still got a couple of days to make up for.”

“Nathan …”

He stops her with a kiss that sears. While he’s completely distracting her with the intensity of that, he’s replacing the shower head and backing her up against the shower wall. Before she can even think about stopping him, and she’s pretty powerless to anyway, he’s lifted her leg and positioned her foot on the conveniently placed ledge in the shower (Really? Who designs these things? she thinks vaguely. Someone with some kind of sex in the shower fetish, clearly) and is kissing his way down her body. Within moments his fingers are parting her so that his tongue has clear access. And he’s teasing her with the tip of it, then licking hard and pushing up hard on her most sensitive nub. Her hands are in his hair, and her chest is heaving when he plunges his tongue right into her while gently sucking.

He tips his head back just a tiny bit so he can look up her long body at her. Her head’s thrown back and the arc of her throat up to her chin is so gorgeous that his stomach tightens. She’s so sexily uninhibited that it amazes him. Her fingers tighten in his hair and he knows his ministrations are about to send her flying. He slowly pulls his tongue back and, ensuring that there isn’t any water running straight down her front to dilute the effect, starts alternating long, leisurely licks and blowing warm breaths across her. Within seconds, the telltale tremor in her thighs gives her away. He moves his hands to behind her thighs to take her weight and she slips into a semi reclining position, with her back pushing against the wall. He plunges his tongue back into her and sucks hard as she gasps, cries out his name and lets the sensations take her away.

He stands after a few beats, pulls her up gently, supports her and presses her back against the shower wall, kissing her slowly, carefully and quietly until her breathing calms and she’s able to open her languid eyes.

“I’m going to lie in the sun for a bit,” he says quietly. “Enjoy your _cake_. I’ll be waiting when you get back.” And he slips out of the shower, out of the bathroom, leaving her dazed.

As she’s about to head downstairs, she pops her head out through the still billowing curtains and quietly admires his naked back for a moment. “Don’t fall asleep in the sun, stud. You’ll get a burnt butt.”

He waves her away with a ‘yeah, yeah’ and a not very sincere ‘have fun.’

 

As Skills and Peyton walk out the front door to head towards the Comet, he frowns slightly at a vehicle that’s parked on the road right by the driveway. Peyton ushers him into the Comet, asking him about how he thinks they’ll go when the school basketball season gets underway again, how many key players will be returning from their last season, and where are their gaps? Of course, that distracts him enough and they spend the rest of the drive talking high school basketball.

But once they’re seated, with coffees and a giant slab of chocolate cake and two forks between them, Skills recalls that car.

“That was Nate’s Range Rover outside your house.”

“Was it?” she asks, picking up her coffee and avoiding his questioning gaze.

“Yeah. I’m sure it was.”

“Oh,” she says thinking quickly, “yeah.  He was there last night. We got a bit trolleyed. He called a cab to get home. I guess he hasn’t recovered enough yet to come and get his car.”

“Man. Hope he’s not sliding back into that drinking thing. That was … that was bad. Really bad.”

“No! No, Skills. It was just one night. He’s not … he’s in a good place. Promise.”

Skills nods his shaved head and passes her a fork, placing his hand on hers for a moment.

“And you? What sorta place is P. Sawyer in?”

“I’m good, Skills.” She puts a big piece of cake in her mouth, raises her eyebrows at Skills, then rolls her eyes at how good that cake is, making appreciative noises.  “Mmm. Yum.” Swallowing, she continues. “Oh my God. You were right. That cake is amazing. Grab your weapon, Skills Taylor, ‘cos battle over who gets most of that cake is about to commence.”

He laughs his rich laugh and they do indeed battle down to the last crumb. Peyton wins, marginally, though she’s under no misapprehension that Skills didn’t let her.

“So,” he says, when the plates are cleared and second coffees have been delivered, “You’re good? Really?”

“Yeah. My scouting trip was awesome. I’m following up with a ton of people, hoping to sign some. I’m running heaps. Did you know I run, Skills? I used to in LA and I picked it up again. I run with Nate; he thought he’d whip me but I keep him honest. So ... yeah. I’m good.”

Skills leans back, arms crossed over his chest. When did he pick up this Scott boy move, she thinks, while he watches her carefully.

“Skills! You’re freaking me out. You look like Lucas or Nathan when you do that.”  
“Baby Girl … that is all very well; your business and your running. But you know what I’m really asking. Where are you at with the whole Lucas Scott being married situation?”

“Skills. That was what? Two months ago?”

“Uh-huh, but you haven’t seen them since and they get back from that European tour thing tomorrow.”

“They do?” She’s not going to let slip that she knows they are already back in town. “Well. That’s nice,” she shrugs. “I guess even two-month-long honeymoons come to an end eventually. Back to reality for them.”

“And back to reality for you. How you gonna deal with seeing them around?”

“Skills, I’m _fine._ Really. You … you’re a great friend, checking in on me. But I’m honestly okay.”  
“But when you actually see …” he protests.

“Skills. I’m not just okay because they haven’t been around. I … at the wedding? I had this moment …”

“Epiphany.”

She grins, remembering the same moment with Nathan, and how long ago that seems now.

“Yeah. I had an epiphany. Skills, seriously. I’m fine. Lucas and me? History. In the past, where it belongs. I just don’t see him that way anymore.”

“So … no awkward moments at group things in the future?”

“Not from my point of view.”

“What’s that mean?”  
“Nothing. Nothing.”

She’s sure Skills has picked up on some of it but she really doesn’t want to get into the details of Lindsey’s past troublemaking and how she doesn’t necessarily think it’ll stop now that Lindsey’s _got the guy_. She wonders how she can distract him from his line of questioning and the thought comes to her right away.

“What about you, Skills Taylor? Why did you bail on the Best Man duties, huh?”

“Hmm,” he says, standing from the table, and extending a hand to help her up “let’s put that in the ancient history file, too.”

When she gets back to the house, having received a text from Brooke saying she’s delayed in New York but is still due back that night, not in time to cook but they’d get takeout for ‘family dinner Thursday’, she finds Nathan asleep on the balcony. Still naked.

“Hey,” she says, waking him up gently with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you,” he mumbles sleepily. “Good cake?”

“Really good cake. You fell asleep.”

“Yeah. Guess you wore me out.”

“You’re gonna have such a sore ass tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“I warned you; sunburn.”

“I don’t burn,” he denies.

“Maybe not on that back and chest that you have uncovered at any opportunity, but when was the last time your lily-white butt got sun on it?”

He tries to sit up but immediately realizes she’s right. The skin on his rear is tight and quite pink and he knows right away that sitting is going to be an issue.

“Let me get my after-sun gel,” she murmurs.

“You gonna rub it on for me?” he grins, making her roll her eyes at him. “Any excuse to touch my ass, Sawyer.”

“You can do it yourself if you keep that up, Scott.”

She does take pity on him though, and carefully applies the soothing gel to his pink skin, after which he pulls her down and rolls on top of her.

“So, what did Skills have to say while he was feeding you cake?” he asks, while tracing his fingertips over her waist and hips.

“He didn’t actually feed it to me. We battled over it with forks. I won.”

“Of course, you did. Never take on Peyton Sawyer when it comes to cake. I could have told him that. What’d he want to catch up for?”

“To tell me your brother gets back tomorrow, make sure I knew and was ... prepared.”

“Yeah. I was gonna ask that later too,” he nods. “You okay?”

“Why later? You just wanted to catch up on your sex quota first?”

“Funny! Speaking of … you still owe me … how many? Two?”

“You know Brooke’s on the way back?”  
“Yup. Not due for hours yet though. Plenty of time.”

His hands start pushing up the hem of her dress. “This is a very pretty dress, Sawyer.”

“Um. Thanks?”  
“And look at that!” he says as if delightfully surprised. “The higher the hem goes, the prettier the dress gets!”

“Nathan. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?”  
“You’re already really sunburnt on your …”

He reaches out, grabs his previously discarded work out shirt and drapes it over his rear.

“Happy now?”

“Oh, ecstatic!” she says sarcastically.

“Excellent. Now where was I …?”

And she discovers just how powerless she really is to resist.

 

 

It’s quite amusing, she must admit, watching him gingerly sit at the dinner table, clad in just loose basketball shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt.

“Standard of dress for dinner’s slipping,” observes Brooke coolly as they open the boxes of Chinese food she’d collected on the way in.

“Sorry, Davis,” he answers. “Big day. Didn’t have time to change.”

“You were already here when I got home,” Brooke points out. “You could’ve showered and changed here.”

Peyton kicks him under the table when she sees that his mind has gone straight to the _two_ showers they’d had together during the afternoon. Well, after their post-cake episode on the balcony they were both pretty hot and bothered, and a shower had been necessary really, to cool down his sunburn as well. And then once she saw that body of his, with water cascading over it, and recalled the way his lips and tongue had made her gasp and her knees buckle in the shower earlier, it seemed only fair to return the favour …

“Um, yeah,” he mutters to Brooke, “nothing to change into.”

“Is that not your bag over there by the door?”

“Oh. Yeah. Forgot I had that.”

“Geeze, you bachelor boys,” Brooke laughs. “Hopeless. Well, I’ll forgive you your sloppy dress just this once. Don’t let it happen again.”

“Yes, Mom!”

As he’s leaving, the girls stand, Peyton on the kitchen side of the counter stacking the dishwasher, and Brooke on the dining room side, the two whispering and giggling. He turns back wondering what’s got them carrying on like high school girls.

“What’s up?”

Peyton shakes her head, smiling to herself, but Brooke walks towards him with a glint in her eye, then trails her fingernail down his bicep.

“As I said earlier, Hotshot, unacceptable dinner attire. But other than that, you are looking seriously hot these days.”

“I was always seriously hot, Davis,” he answers smoothly.

“Yeah but … are you lifting weights or cars, Nathan?” She turns back to her roomie. “What do you reckon, P. Sawyer? Some biceps, huh?”

Peyton rolls her eyes, laughing at her best friends. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Alright, Brooke. Nate’s got ... some serious guns. Happy now?”

He narrows his eyes at her over Brooke’s shoulder. Why’d she have to choose those words? Now all he can think about is what they did on that balcony this afternoon.

“Well,” Brooke continues, turning back to him. “You look great, Nathan. We need to find you a girl. We can’t have all this hotness going to waste.”

He laughs and raises his eyebrow at Peyton.

“What’s your view on that, Sawyer?” he prompts, a look passing between the two of them. “Gonna help Davis find me a hot new girl?”

“Maybe,” she says coolly, “Maybe not. Anyone’d have to be a saint to put up with your jackassery.”

He turns and waves cheekily over his shoulder, taking a step towards the front door.

“Speaking of assery,” Brooke says, “that’s a nice ass too, Scott.”

She skips a couple of steps to catch him and slaps his butt playfully.

“Aaaarrgggh!” he squawks.

“What?”  
“Just … just caught me by surprise,” he gasps.

Peyton, still in the kitchen, is bent over laughing. “Yeah, Scott,” she splutters, standing again. “That _is_ a hot ass. _Red hot_.”

“You’re objectifying me!” he complains.

Brooke and Peyton lock eyes and burst into fits of giggles.

“Seriously?” Peyton asks. “You _love_ being objectified! _Especially_ for your ass. You’d better move it before Brooke decides to pinch it too.”

He’s leaping towards the door in a flash, yelling that he’s gonna make Peyton pay for that.

“What’d he mean by that? Why would he make you pay when it was me that ...?” Brooke asks, confused.

“Dunno. Sounds like crazy heat stroke talk to me. Looks like he got a bit of sun today. Come and tell me about this week in New York, B. Davis.”

Within a few minutes, she has a text from him and is sending a saucy reply.

_Saint, huh? Or an evil bitch like you?_

_Well,_ Saint _Peyton put that after sun gel in your bag for you._ Evil _Peyton says think of me while you apply it._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan and Peyton continue to navigate their way through a relationship that is growing, but still doesn't really have a name. Brooke plays havoc a little ... or a lot ... without even meaning to. And Rob (OMC) from Greenville makes a reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more raciness in this chapter. C'mon, it's Nate and Peyt, of course there's more raciness!

**August**

“Nathan Scott,” he half mumbles into his phone, having grabbed it without looking at the caller ID as he throws his bag into the back of his car. He really should have been on the road half an hour ago to head back to Tree Hill.

“Hey Superstar. It’s your favourite cheerleader.”

“Second favourite cheerleader, Brooke.”

“Only because you have memories of sober sex with my P. Sawyer. If you’d ever slept with me sober I’d be your favourite,” she teases.

“Well it wasn’t for lack of trying … on your part,” he teases back.

“You’d be so lucky, Scott. Anyways ... I need your help with something and it’s for P. Sawyer so if the reason why I’m only your second favourite cheerleader is ‘cos she’s your favourite, then you can’t say no.”

“Hey! Sawyer was my rehab driver,” he reminds her. “Why would I not help out if it’s for her?”

“Goodie good. So, you’re back in town this afternoon?”

“Yup, by four, I hope,” he confirms.

“Cool. You need to be ready by six, and pick us up at my place.”

“For what?”  
“A fake couple date.”

“What? Sawyer and me on a fake couple date? Owen’s not gonna buy that, Davis.” 

“No dumbass. You and I are the fake couple so P. Sawyer can have the real date.”

“Peyton has a date?” he asks, unable to hide the surprise (shock) in his reaction.  
“Nathan! She’s a gorgeous, successful, single girl. Why shouldn’t she have a date?”

“Not what I meant,” he tries to cover. “I was just talking to her a while ago and she didn’t mention it.”

“So? She doesn’t tell you everything.”

“Ah … wrong. She kinda does these days. Bestie girl. Bestie boy. Remember?”

“Damn. I hate being away so much,” she complains. “You’re stealing my bestie. I think she almost loves you more than me. _Almost.”_

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.” He’s not just surprised. He’s _pissed_ , and doing his level best not to give that away to Brooke.

“Well. She probably would have … if she’d known,” Brooke concedes. The relief is instant for him, but he knows this could all blow up in his face, even if it’s Brooke’s plan.

“Brooke! She’ll hate it. I predict carnage.”

“No. No. She knows this guy … I think,” she says quickly.

“Brooke,” he sighs, “what have you done?”

“I may have, possibly, stolen his business card from her purse.”

“And?”  
“She must have met him on the road trip. There’s a cute little scribble on the card. And he’s based in Wilmington so close enough without being too close. And Nathan, we need to get our gorgeous P. Sawyer back in the game. She seems really … good now. And in the right place for a little ... action.”

“She seems good?”

“Yeah. You know. A bit sparkly and sort of centred. I think she maybe is really, _finally_ , over ... well, you know? Your dumbass brother. And I mean, not just over, but over him enough to get _under_ a new boy.”

“Oh, I know that,” Nathan says rather smugly. “She called that way back.”

“You do? She did? Dammit. You _are_ stealing my girl. I was just hoping. She _really_ is?”

“Completely. But she’ll hate being tricked into a date, Brooke.”

“Well, I’ll take the blame,” she offers.

“Damn straight, you will! It’s _your_ crazy scheme!”

“But you’ll help? It was going to be Owen but someone called in sick so he’s stuck at work tonight.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything. I’m looking forward to watching my favourite cheerleader kick my second favourite cheerleader’s ass from here to next Christmas.”

“You always were far too interested in the idea of a little girl on girl action, Scott. So ... I gotta jet. See you at six.”

It takes all of Brooke’s powers of persuasion to get her roomie into the shower and dressed up to go out. When Nathan arrives, Peyton is still grumbling.

“Shotgun!” calls Brooke as she runs to the car. “You get front seat on the way back, P.”

“Oh good, Brooke. Excellent. Steam roll me into going out when I’ve had such a chaotic day and all I want is to chill in front of a movie and scoff _ice cream_ , and then I get the back seat too.”

“Stop bitching; you used to love the back seat, or shouldn’t I say that in mixed company? Oh no!” she jokes, slapping her forehead in a silly me gesture. “It’s fine! ‘Cos it was Hotshot that you were in the back seat _with!_ And anyway, you’ll thank me for this, you’ll see.”

“For trying a new restaurant in Wilmington? Why? We could go anytime or … now here’s an idea; we could just go somewhere local, or even better, chill out in front of a movie with _ice cream_!”

Every time she says ice cream, she meets Nathan’s eyes fleetingly in the rear vision mirror, and he’s very aware that she’s telling him she’d rather be finding a way to be with him after that movie and ice cream than doing this ridiculous restaurant run.

“Well,” says Brooke with a sneaky glint in her eye, “now that we’re on the road and as there are kiddie locks on the back doors and you can’t escape …”

“Brooke?” she asks, her something-is-up detectors going off at full volume.

“Time to come clean?”

“What have you done?”

“Set up a date?”

“But you’ve got Owen. Why would you set up ... oh, _hell no_ ... you set up a date for _me_? Brooke Penelope Davis! And you!” she says poking Nathan in the arm, “were you in on this?”

“Not guilty, Your Honour!” he says firmly. “I’m here to watch you kick her ass when you find out she set you up. So, go to it, Sawyer. Shall I pull over so you can really get into her?”

“Yes!” she replies, as Brooke calls “No!”

“P. listen,” Brooke wheedles. “You look gorgeous. And you need to meet some new boys.”

“I don’t want a new boy, Brooke.”

She can see Nathan smirking at her out of the corner of her eye.

“But why not?” Brooke asks, throwing Nathan a look. He said she was interested. Didn’t he?

“I’m too busy!” Peyton declares, getting flustered.

“Well, this one lives in Wilmington so he can’t be in your face all the time anyway,” Brooke argues. “And I know you like him.”

“How is it possible for you to know that if I don’t know that yet?”

“But you …”

“Brooke! ‘Fess up!” Peyton demands impatiently.

“I saw his card in your purse and I know you only keep the cards of people you like. Even if it’s purely business you ‘File 13’ their card if you don’t actually like them.”

“You stole a card from my purse? You’re a menace!”

“Thank you!” Brooke quips. “So, tell me about this boy … Rob?”

“Rob? Oh ... EPO Rob.  From Greenville.”

“Isn’t it the EPA?” Brooke asks, with a little frown appearing.

“Nope. EPO. Emergency Plus One. He was sweet. Said I should call him if I ever desperately needed a partner for a function or something like that.”

“Well good,” Brooke says, crossing her arms in satisfaction. “This is a ‘something like that’.”

 

They arrive at the restaurant at the same time as Rob, who greets Peyton with a genuine grin, and a handshake that turns in to a kiss on the cheek. In the simple gesture, he somehow conveys to her that whatever this is, is fine. She introduces him to Brooke, who cheekily insists she also get a kiss on the cheek, and to Nathan, who shakes hands strongly.  _Very_ strongly.

The four share a pleasant pre-dinner drink and chat on at their table as they await their meals. Peyton wonders how it’s so easy, then realises that there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be. They’re adults, not kids. Brooke is the easiest conversationalist ever, expert at bringing groups together. Nathan is quieter, maybe more so tonight than usual, but the two men seem to get on okay.

Rob tells Brooke his younger sister is a huge fan, to which Brooke replies she clearly has excellent taste and, as Peyton had predicted back in Greenville, that his sibling should make herself known when next in Brooke’s store, and they can have a chat about how to get a start in fashion.

“How did you get your start?” Rob asks, with genuine interest.

So, Brooke explains about her retail job at Suburban Filth, a mall store, and how that turned into her first design work, and how that turned into being ripped off for those designs, and how that turned into Brooke, Peyton and Haley raiding the store to retrieve the goods, and winding up in orange jumpsuits. Rob looks between Brooke and Peyton and laughs.

“I’m dining with delinquents?” he teases.

“Totally,” Peyton laughs back. “We’re badass.”  
“Well, at least you can count a decent lawyer amongst your friends now,” he says. “You know, just in case ...”  
“We will bear that in mind,” Peyton nods, turning her head towards him, smiling and winking, her green eyes twinkling. “And might I say, that is very gallant of you. Ow!”

“P.?” Brooke asks right away. “You okay?”

“Um … yeah ... just a sharp … cramp in my shin.”

“You have other siblings?” Brooke asks Rob across the table.

“Another sister,” he confirms. “You? No … let me guess. Only child?”

“How’d you know?” Brooke asks.

“I’m observant. It helps with my line of work.”  
“He means he can tell you’re a spoilt brat, B.,” Peyton quips.

“And I know Peyton has an older half-brother,” Rob continues. “How about you, Nathan?”

Nathan glances across at Peyton. Rob knew that? He’s kind of surprised.  She’s usually reserved with new people and they’ve only had that one meeting back in Greenville. Exactly how well _did_ they get on?

“Same; older half-brother,” Nathan replies, eyeing Rob coolly.

Rob nearly chokes, then looks between Peyton and Nathan, his eyes wide.

“Wow, I’d never have picked _that.”_

“Not observant enough?” Nathan snipes, earning himself a harsh look across the table, from Peyton.

“How could you possibly have picked he has an older half-brother?” Brooke asks, a little confused.

“No, I mean, I wouldn’t have picked these two had the same brother,” Rob explains.

“Um, we don …” Peyton begins, before she realises what’s happened and starts laughing.  Nathan catches on too and soon they’re both in near hysterics, while Brooke and Rob look on.

“Sorry,” Nathan eventually manages to get out, wiping a tear from his own cheek with a napkin then passing it to Peyton so she can so the same. “I meant same situation as in we both have an older half-brother. Not that we actually have the same older half-brother.”

“Oh!” Brooke finally picks up the ‘joke’ and giggles. “Well,” she then ponders, “you don’t actually know who Bio-Dad is, P. I mean, it would be _so_ Tree Hill if it was Dan!”

“Brooke!” Peyton protests. “Ew! What a hideous thought.”

“Being related to Lucas after all the history? I’ll say!” Brooke laughs.

Rob looks puzzled, of course, and Brooke explains that Peyton dated Nathan’s brother and, had things been just a tiny bit different, would have been Nathan’s sister-in-law.

Peyton rolls her eyes and reminds Brooke that if it was Dan, she’d be related to Nathan as well and it’s all just a bit incestuous really. Then she exclaims in pain again.

“Cramp again?” Brooke asks, concerned.

“Mmm,” Peyton groans. “And _damn_ , it’s got a kick.”

 

After dinner, Rob and Peyton head to the bar to get drinks while Brooke and Nathan find them a booth, Brooke having skilfully manipulated the pairings. The brunette likes Rob, and she especially likes the easy way he and Peyton get on.

“So, I was a little surprised to hear from Brooke,” the lawyer says as they’re waiting for the barman to get to them.

“Yeah. Look, Rob, I’m sorry about this,” she replies. “Brooke is the world’s most enthusiastic but perhaps least skilled matchmaker. She thought your card being in my purse was significant.”

 “Was it?” he asks, perhaps a little hopefully.

“You never know when you’ll need an ‘EPO’, right? In the absence of a significant other.”

“Really?” he asks with ahalf smile. “‘Cos I kind of got the impression that yours was just sitting opposite you at that table.”

“Nathan? Yeah. He’d be a good EPO too.”

“I meant significant other,” he says, with a small nudge of his elbow.

“What? No … old friends.”  
Rob raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Um, sharing a napkin to wipe off tears, even tears of laughter, is kind of an intimate gesture, Peyton,” he says with a wry smile. “You two are _very_ … at ease together.”

“Okay. You got me,” she concedes. “We used to date. Long time ago. _Now_ we’re mates.”

“Still not buying it,” he chuckles. “He was at the bar that night in Greenville. I recognise him. So … what _was_ that night?”

“Oh God,” she blushes, tempted to hide behind her hand but knowing Brooke is probably watching her and not wanting to give her any ammunition at all.  “Okay. If I ‘fess up, will you promise not to tell Brooke?”

“Sure. It’ll be our little secret, whatever it is. But I get to call in an EPO of my own at some stage.”

“Deal. Nate and I just took a road trip together; we were both getting over a pile of ... stuff. Relationship stuff. That night was supposed to be me testing my wings again, with a safety net in the form of an ex-pro basketballer in the distance in case I got into trouble.”

“Nice!” he nods. “And by the looks of it, after you got me as an EPO, your wings took you right back to the nest.”

“What? No!”

“Peyton Sawyer; you are a _terrible_ liar. I don’t know how someone who claims to be your best friend doesn’t see it, but you and your ex-pro basketballer are _so_ on, making him, I guess, your ex _ex_.”

She shakes her head and goes to protest, but he laughs and tells her not to bother, that he won’t believe her anyway. She sighs and shakes her head again, looking down and blushing a little, giving up the fight. He grins at her silent admission and touches her arm.

“You look good together,” he says quietly near her ear. “I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

When they’re all back at the cars, saying their farewells, Rob kisses Peyton on the cheek lingeringly and murmurs in her ear. “I’m still happy to be your EPO anytime, Peyton. And I’m staying here just a few more seconds to make your guy insanely jealous. He seems the type to act on that.”

She chuckles and pats his arm fondly.

The drive home is a little quiet. Now that she’s sitting next to him in the car, Peyton can feel Nathan itching to say something and getting more tense with every minute because he knows he won’t get the chance with Brooke along. Just as they pull into the driveway, he catches a break; Brooke’s phone rings.

“Shit,” she says, “Bitch-toria. Dammit. Better get it. Been avoiding her for days. At least I’m fortified with a few wines. Thanks for driving, Hotshot.” And she’s out and off, leaving Nathan and Peyton in the car.

“Still on for a run at 7?” he asks without looking directly at her.

“Maybe 8?” she counters. “One wine too many for a 7am start.”

“Yeah,” he says, still not looking at her. “You did get a little giggly there.”

“What? I am _not_ giggly.”

“Flirty then,” he says deadpan.

“I was _not_ flirty!” she snipes at him. “And besides, you can talk!”

“What!?”

“Kicking me under the table! Twice. _And_ you’ve got boots on. I bet I have bruises tomorrow, you jerk.”

“Well, you were …”

“What? Having a normal friendly conversation!”

“You were not!” he says forcefully, flicking angry eyes at her before looking down again. “All that touchy-feely coy stuff. You were goading me.  And it fucking worked.”

“I _wasn’t!_ And even if I was, it’d serve you right for agreeing to B’s mad scheme,” she argues back.

“It _was_ a mad scheme,” he agrees. “He’s _so_ not your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” she says with a frown.

“Oh, you _do so_ have a type!”

“Elaborate, please …” she snarks, rolling her eyes.

“Tall.”

“He’s six foot!”

“He’s not 6’ 2”. He’s not built.”

“He’s very nicely put together,” she counters.

“He’s not … athletic.”

“He was a state tennis champ!” she crows. “Tennis players have _outstanding_ legs and asses, thank you.”

“Tennis? Please! He’s not a ball player.”

“Not all of my past … boyfriends ... partners … whatevers have been ballplayers,” she points out.

“Me,” Nathan says, ticking off a finger, “Jake, Lucas, me again,” he adds, tapping another three fingers in turn. “You _so_ have a type and it starts and ends with boyfriends who are ball players.”

“Two things.” Peyton fires back, holding a finger up in front of him. “One; you’re forgetting Julian, who was not even remotely athletic but was actually the longest and most stable of all my boyfriends, and when I say _all,_ I don’t mean there were a ton because there were _not_! And two; you are _not_ my boyfriend!”

There is silence and a staring match that seems to last forever. Her chest is heaving after their ‘discussion’ and her last rant. He flicks his eyes down and back up, then unceremoniously hauls her across the seat for a searing, demanding kiss that takes the little bit of breath she has left.

“You are so hot when you’re ranting at me,” he accuses against her lips.

“Shut up and kiss me again, you jerk,” she says, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. “You’ve got about two minutes before Brooke comes looking for me.”

 

 

The next morning, when they meet to run, and as she launches into her stretching routine, she points out two purpling marks on her legs to him. “Bruises. Told you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, cursing inwardly at his stupidity, and inconsideration. “You were right. I’m sorry, Sawyer. I was a jerk.”

“A jealous jerk!” she laughs.

He’s quiet at that, for an awkwardly long time.

“C’mon silly, I was teasing,” she cajoles.

“Sure. You’re right though.”

“Nate?”  
“Look, I’m … territorial. It’s just the way it is. I didn’t enjoy watching you with someone else.”

“It was a farce of a date set up without my knowledge!” she protests.

“I know! But I just …” he halts. Tries to work out where he’s going with this then just blurts it out. “I … I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Oh. Okay,” she says, halting her stretch and standing, looking a little flustered. “Well … um … we said we’d stop when one of us …”

“No! Not that. Not _stopping_.”

“Then what?”  
“We haven’t talked about what … whether it ... this … is …”

“Exclusive?” she supplies, looking at him curiously, her head tilted to the side.

“Well, yeah, I guess.”

“And your view on that would be what?”

“Peyton, _my_ view on that is that I’m asking what _your_ view on that is.”

“Coward!”

He stands, hands on hips, refusing to comment any further. She’s stubborn too though. So, it’s what feels like a long time before he gestures at her impatiently in a way that makes him look sixteen again. She rolls her eyes and sighs dramtically, then realises that that probably makes her look, and sound, about sixteen again too.

“ _My_ view,” she says with a quick finger poke into his chest, “is that I don’t have the time to even think about anything else with anyone else. Your turn.”

“I have the time. I just don’t have the … inclination,” he says a little hesitantly.

“Maybe I don’t have the time _or_ the inclination,” comes her soft reply, as she flattens her palm against his chest.

“So?”

“So …”  
“No one else?” he suggests, trying hard not to make it sound too … meaningful. He’s walking a thin line with her. He doesn’t want her running scared, but he realises he really does want to push this on a level.

“No one else,” she answers. “You know, unless you meet someone and it’s heading into relationship territory. Like … like leasing a car until you’re ready to buy!”  
“That’s a really dumb metaphor,” he chuckles. “That works both ways though, Sawyer. Likewise, if you meet someone.”  
She shrugs dismissively as if that’s just not ever going to happen. How can she not think she’s as likely as him, more likely than him, he thinks, to meet someone first? And that is _not_ a good thought, he decides.

“Well then. As long as we both want to. Or until other stuff gets in the way,” she says.

“And no dates including set ups,” he adds.

“You’ll have to talk to Davis about _that_.”

“Sawyer …” he warns.  
“Okay! I’ll talk to her.”

“And tell her what?”

She thinks about that for a moment before she comes up with an approach that she thinks will pacify Brooke.  
“That I appreciate the concern but that I’m going to be focussing on the label for the next few months and I promise her she’ll be the first to know when I need her boy sourcing services but can she back off in the meantime? Good enough?”

“Good enough,” he says. _For now_ , he thinks to himself.

**Late August**

They’ve had another great ‘family dinner’ and are kicking back with a beer. Brooke’s trying to persuade Nathan to go and get ice cream, arguing that he’s had only one beer while she and Peyton have been drinking since late afternoon, taking the rare opportunity for a good gossip and a ‘BFF talk.’

He’s protesting, saying if he has to drive for _ice cream_ , then Peyton has to go with him to run into the store, so he doesn’t have to mess around parking. He can see she’s, oddly, not about to give in and assist with the ice cream run. (He’s sure the retailers of Tree Hill must have noticed the increased consumption of ice cream in recent weeks. When Brooke’s in town and soaking up the hours they’d usually use for … well … being together, an ice cream run is their go-to excuse for getting out of the house for an urgent trip to that nearby but undiscovered by anyone else spot up the abandoned little road. Brooke’s always catching up on email and returning texts to the New York crew, and she’s never once questioned how long they take. She just thanks them for her dessert and tries desperately not to have her attention drawn back to her phone, usually failing miserably. But they’re not complaining; it’s all working in their favour.) He’s trying to get Peyton’s attention to throw the raised eyebrow at her (it always works) and haul her out on the ice cream run with him, when Brooke pipes in.

“Nope. I need P. here. Off you go … and get at least two flavours.”

He grumbles but heads off and, as soon as he’s out the door, Brooke and Peyton leap to their feet and rush to their respective bathrooms.

“Brooke!” Peyton yells from hers after a few minutes.

“Yeah?”  
“You got ribbons?”

“Do I have ribbons?” the brunette answers from the doorway, holding out a handful in blue.

“Of course, you do, Miss Plan Everything Perfectly Down To The Last Blue Ribbon. Silly question.”

“It’s a gift,” Brooke replies sweetly, watching her not so blonde anymore friend lean forward towards her mirror, straightening her ponytail in the hair elastic.

“Here you go,” Brooke says, handing a few ribbons over.

They look each other up and down and burst into laughter.

“We look so hot,” Brooke says, entirely straight faced, in a perfect parody of her high school self.

“I can’t believe we still fit these,” Peyton laughs.

They’re both in their old Ravens cheer uniforms, perky ponytails in place and Brooke has even managed to paint her trademark ‘R’ on her right cheek.

“He is gonna lose his mind,” Brooke chuckles.

“Why are we doing this again?” Peyton asks, trying to tug the skirt down, feeling her legs are very exposed and wondering if Brooke somehow found the time to shorten the hem even further.

Brooke slaps her hands away from fidgeting with the skirt length.

“Leave it. Your legs look even more amazing than they did in high school. And we’re doing it ‘cos he’s been such a rock and … even though the whole Carrie thing still makes me … well, we need to get him back in the game. Seeing a bit of cheerleader action might get his juices running a bit hotter.”

“Not sure that’s possible,” Peyton mutters under her breath.

“What?”  
“Nothing.”  


“Davis? Sawyer? Ice cream’s back,” he calls from the living room a few minutes later.

Brooke grins. “Show time, P. Sawyer! Got your high kick ready?”

“Oh my God! I am not doing any _actual_ cheering, Brooke!”

“Davis?” he calls again from the living room.

“Coming!”  
“That’s what she said,” Peyton smirks in a perfect imitation of Brooke’s cheeky old catch phrase, before following her friend into the hallway.

He’s in the kitchen, putting the ice cream into the freezer when he hears their giggles. He turns and spots them in the short hallway that leads to the bedrooms, each with an arm resting high against the wall, each with legs crossed at the ankle, each with their other hand on their hip – mirror images of each other, in posture and position anyway.

“Hey, Hotshot,” Brooke purrs with a saucy wink.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Not so grumpy about being sent to get ice cream alone now, huh?” Peyton quips, eyebrow raised.

“Fuck no!” He shakes his head, a huge grin in place.

“Fancy a little action?” flirts Brooke. “A little two on one, maybe?”  
He blushes. He _actually_ blushes. He can feel it and they can see it. He looks from Brooke to Peyton.

“ _On the court_ , perv,” Peyton laughs, “not in the _boudoir_.”

“You sure?” he smirks back, “I’m up for both.”

“Dirty!” declares Brooke.

“You know you want me, Davis.”

“I _had_ you,” she teases. “It wasn’t that memorable.”

“You were seriously drunk,” he counters, “That’s why you don’t remember.”

“So were you. That’s _why_ it wasn’t that memorable,” she retorts, quick as a flash.

“Alright, children!” Peyton declares. “Are we taking this down to the Rivercourt or not?”

“Hell yeah!” Nathan replies, jiggling his keys. “A couple of hours and it’ll be 11.30,” he says with a laugh. “All we need is for Luke to turn up and we can replay that one on one where it all started.”

“He beat you, dumbass,” Brook chuckles.

“Yeah. He sure as well wouldn’t now. I’d whip his scrawny butt.”

Brooke leads the way out the door and, as he falls into step behind Peyton, Nathan slides his hand down over her hip. “I whip his ass everywhere it counts,” he continues smoothly as he flicks her skirt up and runs his fingertip swiftly around the elastic of those cheer bloomers.

“Everywhere?” Brooke flirtily calls back over her shoulder.

“Damn right, everywhere,” he confirms.

 

They’ve been mucking about for a while, Nathan lazily popping up shots and the girls spoofing some of their cheers, and creating a new, very personal, slightly dirty, very pro Nathan Scott one that has him rolling his eyes but also puffing out his chest just a bit. Alright, a lot.

“So, Hotshot,” Brooke teases, “best surprise ever?”  
“Just about, Davis. How many of that old squad could still fit into their skirts, huh?”  
“Who cares?” she shrugs. “ _We_ can. That’s all we care about.”

“Well … you both look seriously hot,” he says admiringly, pausing for a moment, ball at his hip, to look between them.

“You’re so lucky that you’ve had us!” she teases.

“Brooke!” Peyton protests. “You are _drunk_!”  
“Nope. Just a bit tiddly. And frisky.”  
“Well, stop flirting,” Peyton demands.

“Why?”  
“’Cos … it’s Nate.”  
“Nathan is a _great_ flirt. He loves it. Don’t you, Hotshot?”

“I’d like it better if it went somewhere,” he teases back drily, proving Brooke correct on both counts, grinning widely while he’s popping up another shot.

“Wanna make this interesting?” Brooke challenges, hands on hips.

“Brooke!” warns Peyton. She knows that tone of voice. This is trouble with a capital T.

“Whatcha got in mind, Davis?” Nathan asks as he retrieves the ball.

“Two shots. You make both and we’ll both give you a decent kiss.”

“Brooke!” Peyton’s aghast.  
“That’s too easy,” he smirks. “You either _want_ to kiss me or there’s a catch.”

“Well … you _are_ an ex pro player. So … there has to be a handicap,” Brooke explains.

“Go on,” he says, intrigued.

“You have to shoot one handed, while holding one of us off the ground in some way, and the other one of us defends.”

He stands, ball to his hip again, thinking, then grins as a thought occurs to him. Peyton groans. She knows that look too. More trouble.

“You know what? When you two came back to Tree Hill and I still had my ass in that wheelchair, you told me for every step I took, you’d kiss each other.”

“Yeah, but that was a right then and there deal,” Brooke says. “You didn’t get out of the chair ‘til P. Sawyer dragged your ass into that kids’ hospital ward.”

“Still …”  
“Alright,” she shrugs. “Make both shots, one handed, holding one of us off the ground, and we’ll kiss. Each other, I mean.”  
“Brooke!” Peyton jabs her finger hard into her friend’s arm. This is getting out of hand.

“Oh, P. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“You … you what?” Nathan splutters.

“You were there! End of season JV party. Sophomore year.”

“That doesn’t count! We were all drunk and you dared me,” Peyton protests. “Actually, you know what, Brooke? You dared me to kiss people at parties _way_ too often! What’s with that?”

Brooke shrugs, grinning, while Nathan thinks back.

“Oh yeah,” he muses. “I do remember. Damn, that was hot.”  
“So,” Brooke demands. “Deal or ...?”

“No!” Peyton yells.

“Come on, Sawyer,” he cajoles. “Don’t be chicken. I know no one’ll ever be a better kisser than me but …”

“Jerk!”

“Ooh,” declares Brooke thoughtfully, “you’re not married any more, Nathan, so you have to be honest …”

“About what?”  
“Best kisser ever. See … you don’t _have_ to say Haley anymore. So … who?”

“Easy,” he says simply, “Sawyer.”

“You don’t have to say that just ‘cos I’m here, you idiot,” she laughs.

“I know,” he says, pushing the ball into the concrete again, and throwing her a boyish smile.

“You’ve kissed a lot of girls, Scott, even if your tally has slowed down since the bad old days,” Brooke comments.

“I know. It’s still Sawyer. How ‘bout you, Davis?”

“Well … P. Sawyer was _pretty_ good … but I’d have to say Chase. He was … OMG … _seriously_ good.”

“Yeah,” Nathan chuckles, “’cos that’s _all_ he did, right?”

“Not funny,” Brooke responds, waggling a teacherly finger at him. “So … deal on?”  
“We didn’t hear who Sawyer’s best kisser ever is,” he points out.

“That’s easy too,” says Brooke. “I’d put Lucas second, and she hasn’t kissed Chase, not properly, so she’ll say Lucas is the best.”

“I will not!”

“Because he wasn’t? Or because you just don’t want to say so?” asks Brooke. “’Cos he actually is a _really_ good kisser.”

“Because he wasn’t my best,” Peyton says simply. Brooke ponders for a moment then laughs.

“Oh right! Jake!” she declares, bending to fix her shoe lace.

“Yeah,” drawls Peyton, winking at Nathan over Brooke’s back, “my best ever kisser was someone from back in high school, Brooke. Like I haven’t had a life since then.”

“Well,” Brooke puzzles, “mine was. And so was Nathan’s. Oh my God. What does that say about us?”  
“It says we need to live a little,” Nathan says, pushing the ball into the concrete a couple of times. “Deal on.”  
“Don’t I get any say in this at all?” Peyton protests.

“Sure you do,” Nathan replies with a naughty little laugh. “Block my shot and you don’t have to lock lips with Davis for my viewing pleasure.”

“You’re suggesting it’s down to me? That Brooke can’t block a shot?”  
“Hell yeah,” he confirms. “I’ve seen her game. She doesn’t have a chance.”  
“Hey!” Brooke pouts.

“Davis, you’re a midget. At last Sawyer’s got a little height on her side. So … you’re defending first, Brooke.”

Brooke takes her position and Peyton jumps onto him piggy back style and starts breathing into his ear, squeezing her thighs against him.

“Hang on,” he says. “Rules.”  
“Already established,” Brooke says.

“Nope. That was game rules. I mean … about the kissing. Minimum length of time?”  
“Oh trust me, baby,” Brooke flirts, “you’re gonna love it so much you won’t be checking your watch.”

“Hey,” Peyton interrupts, “you’re conceding defeat already?”

“Maybe she just really wants to kiss you, Sawyer,” Nathan laughs, dribbling the ball a few times.

“Alright,” says Brooke, “a minute, minimum.”

“Two,” Nathan snaps out.

“Fine.”

“Seriously, Brooke?” Peyton protests. “Two minutes is _ages_. He’s right; you do just want to kiss me. You’re being a pushover!”

“It’s okay, P. He hasn’t said anything about tongue.”

“Brooke!”  
“Good point,” he smirks. “Has to be tongue.”

“No!” Peyton yells, slapping her palm onto his shoulder.

“Fine,” shrugs Brooke. “Tongue.”

“Jesus,” Peyton mutters, “I’m surrounded by perverts.”

“You’re riding a pervert,” Nathan quips, squeezing her thigh suggestively.

“Well this is the only riding I’ll be doing tonight!” she mutters in his ear. “Oh my God, Brooke, you’d better block this shot, you idiot.”

Peyton does her very best to put him off without Brooke being able to see what she’s doing; she clenches her thighs hard around his waist, tips her hips closer to him, winds her fingers into his hair a little, letting her breath trail across his ear, pretending to cover his eyes and pressing her lips to his earlobe behind her hand, rubbing her chest across his shoulder blades. But Brooke’s attempt at defence is laughable and he makes the shot effortlessly, then picks up the other ball to keep shooting while Peyton heads into the shadows to retrieve the first one.

“Get ready to pucker up, girls,” he laughs.

“Seriously, Davis,” Peyton groans as she returns to find the brunette draped over Nathan’s shoulder, his arm holding her legs down over his chest, “you’re pathetic.”

“Sorry, P,” she giggles, turning her head to look at her friend. “He has a good butt, huh?” she asks, slapping his rear with another giggle. “Still,” she muses, “at least we know it’ll be good for me, ‘cos Nathan thinks you’re the best kisser ever.”

“Right,” Peyton mutters drily, “well as long as it’s good for y _ou_ , Brooke.”

 

When Lucas and Lindsey drive past the Rivercourt it’s her that first notices the lights are on and she points it out to him. He pulls off the road, concerned that, at this late hour - it’s after midnight - some punks might be up to no good.

“It’s okay,” his wife says after a minute, “it’s just some kids playing. Let’s get home.”

“Let’s just wait a minute,” he insists. “Make sure they’re not …”

“Huh,” she says, “it’s a guy and a girl. She’s in a cheerleading uniform. Weird.”

Lucas squints, watching as the guy steps back and puts up a perfect three-point jump shot. He knows right away that it’s his brother. Who’s the girl though? In this light, it’s hard to tell.

“Oh look,” says Lindsey. “There’s another girl. Kinky!”

Lucas spots the other girl emerging from the shadows and back onto the floodlit court and his heart hammers. He knows those legs; his whole body remembers what it’s like to see those legs from this distance. So … if it’s Nathan and Peyton, the other girl must be … yup. It’s Brooke. He shakes his head and chuckles.

“What?” Lindsey asks.

“It’s Nathan.”

“You can tell from here?”  
“I can spot his jump shot.”

“So … isn’t it a bit … _off_ … that he’s out here at midnight with two high school cheerleaders?”

“Lindsey … that cheer uniform is the old one. From when I was at high school.”  
“So?”  
“That’s not two high school cheerleaders. That’s Brooke and Peyton.”

“Really? How can you tell from here?”

“Short brunette. Tall sort of blonde. With Nathan. Who else would it be?” He’s not going to tell her he recognises those legs now, is he?

“Oh yeah. I guess. What _are_ they doing?”

He’s baffled too. Brooke is now over his brother’s shoulder, and she’s pummelling his ass a bit while he slowly dribbles the ball with his right hand, his left holding her in place. Peyton’s moving in front of him, defending the goal, waving her slender arms about to try and distract him. Nathan moves, not hurriedly, towards the goal and Lucas is convinced he can hear laughter floating towards the car on the night air. He spots his brother’s move just before it happens; Nathan moves right, obscuring Lucas’ view of Peyton, and prepares to pop the ball up one handed. He hears Nathan’s deep, raucous laughter ring out and sees the ball arc up. It’s a decent but not brilliant shot. It’s not a Nathan calibre shot, not like the earlier one, which was from much further back. It would still have made the hoop, just, but at the last possible second, it’s tipped away by Peyton who has leapt high, her skirt flaring, to make _just enough_ fingertip contact with the ball to change the angle of its flight.

Lucas watches as Nathan puts Brooke down on the tarmac, stand hands on hips, while the two girls raise their arms in victory, hug and dance around his brother.

“Wow,” he says wryly, “white men may not be able to jump, but that white girl sure can.”

“What?”  
“Basketball movie, Linds. Woody Harrelson. Wesley Snipes.”

“Oh.”

“Who knew Peyton had such spring? That was …”  
“We should go, Lucas, it’s getting late,” she cuts in with an icy voice. Yup, he notes. Mention Peyton’s name more than once or twice in any conversational exchange, even if it’s totally relevant, and the ice queen comes out.

Back on the court, Nathan is shooting daggers at Peyton, which the third of their group spots.

“Sore loser, Scott!” Brooke taunts. “Stop giving my BFF the evil eye!”  
He mumbles something about her BFF being a cheat and Peyton laughs, then suggests they head off, now that they’ve handed an ex pro ball player his comeuppance.

“I’ll comeuppance you,” he mutters in her ear as he walks past to retrieve the ball, prompting her to spin and flick the back of her skirt up at him.

 

The three of them are back at Nathan’s; they all agreed they were having way too much fun to quit and neither of the girls are working tomorrow. He has beer in the fridge and they’re all out of alcohol at Brooke’s place, so his place was the logical destination. Brooke disappears to the bathroom at one point and he takes the opportunity to lean over the back of the sofa right next to Peyton and kiss her. She doesn’t exactly pull away but she’s a little weird and definitely tense.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.”  
“Not buying it. What’s up?”

He slides over the back of the sofa and turns her head to face him.

“Hey. Seriously. What’s wrong?”  
She shakes her head, clamming up.

“Peyton … c’mon. Don’t do this,” he says persuasively, eyes intense. “Talk to me.”

“You’ll tell me, right?” she asks tentatively.

“Tell you what?”  
“When you’re done?”

“Done?”  
“With this,” she says, gesturing between them.

“What are you …?”  
“You’ll tell me? You won’t just …”  
“What’s brought this on?”  
“Just answer the fucking question, Nathan,” she insists, casting a look down the hallway to see if Brooke is re-emerging yet.

“I’m not done, not by a long shot.”

“Are you just bored then?” she blurts out.

“What the hell?”

“I mean …”  
“Oh my God. You mean the you and Brooke kissing thing? Babe, it was just a bit of fun.”

“You said it’d be hot,” she says, his use of ‘babe’ in her ears. He’s done it once or twice. She’s not quite sure how to take it.

“It would be,” he shrugs. “I’m a guy, C’mon! Two gorgeous girls kissing in front of me? Seriously hot.”

“Not helping.”

“You know what the hottest thing of all is though?”  
“I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“Oh, trust me, you do. It’s you. _You_ … in my bed, in your bed, outside, inside, in the car, dressed up, dressed down, completely undressed. It’s you. You are fucking hot, and not _just_ hot. You’re gorgeous, and funny. And amazing. And I could never in a million years be bored with you, when it comes to sex or anything else.”

She looks up, slightly teary, biting her lip.

“You’ve got no idea, do you?” he muses. “No idea how sexy you are.”

“Just …”  
“Sawyer, I’m not gonna lie. Not to you. In my head, if Davis came out here right now and kissed those perfect lips of yours and you got into it a bit – just a bit – and I got to watch? Total fantasy material. But there’s a massive difference between in theory fantasy and reality. And the reality is the second it went beyond a little lip action, I know I’d be breaking it up.”

“Yeah?”  
“No one, and I mean _no one_ , gets to do more than peck your lips except me. The second it turns French … it’s over.”

“I just don’t get the whole girl on girl thing.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way, ‘cos I’d do a bucket load of stuff for you but a sex change ain’t one of them.”

She laughs then smiles broadly.

“There it is,” he says with satisfaction.

“What?”

“Sexiest smile in the State.”

“Ice cream!” announces Brooke, coming back into the room, then pulling up. “Oh … it’s at my place,” she says sadly.  
“Freezer, Davis,” he replies. “There’s a couple of tubs there.”

An hour later and Brooke’s fallen asleep on the couch, her empty ice cream bowl on the coffee table next to her.

Nathan looks at the brunette and grins, looks across to Peyton and gestures wordlessly to the back door. They quietly head out to his deck, where he sits and pulls her down to straddle his lap, immediately claiming her lips in a hard, demanding kiss.  His hands are running up her bare thighs, sliding under her skirt, gripping her hips under that tempting little skirt and hers are on his chest, over his shoulders, in his hair.

“Damn,” he mutters against her mouth.

“Still pissed about losing?” she giggles into his neck, trailing fire from his jaw to his ear.

“Flashing that bra strap at me? You know that particular one drives me crazy. You won ‘cos you played dirty.”

“Wanna play dirty now?”

“Damn,” he says again. “I always did wish these skirts didn’t have the pants sewn in.”

She leans back, taking his face between her hands. “Well then, do I have a treat for you!”  
“What?”

“I … may have made a small alteration to this skirt.”

“You …?”

Oh, the hope in those dark blue eyes of his is just palpable, she thinks. She raises her eyebrows at him with a devious grin. He slips his fingers higher, discovers that she has indeed detached the offending pants. “Ohmigod,” he grins, “are you serious? Why did you not do this in high school?”

“Brooke used to check them to make sure we hadn’t.”

“Well, thank God she didn’t check them tonight. This is … like … fantasy material.”

“Oh really?”  
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbles, reaching for the hem of her uniform top.

“Tell me more about this fantasy,” she murmurs into his ear.

“Top off.”

She raises her arms and allows him to pull the Ravens top over her head.

“Mm-hmm. Check,” she flirts.

“It _was_ a topless fantasy, but that bra is just … still amazing. Leave it on.”

“Mm-hmm. Check.”

“Skirt on but nothing underneath.”

She stands, turns, stares him down over her shoulder while she removes the pants, with an appropriate little wiggle of her hips, and hands them to him, flashing her eyes at him and giving him a knowing wink.

“Mm-hmm. Check.”

“Fuck,” he breathes.

“Yes please,” she says against his lips, bending forward from the waist to kiss him.

“Here?” he gasps as she moves her hands to the drawstring in his basketball shorts, loosening it.

“You tell me,” she days drolly, “it’s your fantasy.”

“Brooke ...”  
“Sleeps like the dead after that many beers.”  
“How convenient,” he says with a cheeky smirk.

“So … here?”

“Here,” he says firmly. “Now.”

“Impatient much?”  
“Hell yeah. Can we ...?”

“Fast?” she finishes for him, understanding in an instant exactly what he was going to say.

God, she knows him so well, and he loves that she can turn on this intense, no holds barred, uninhibited, unrestrained side. He nods, pulls her into a searing kiss of hot gasps and probing tongues, lifting his hips a little while she slides his clothing down, produces protection from God knows where and is sliding down on to him in a moment.  It’s only a few days but it feels like forever and the vice like grip she has on his shoulders tells him she’s been wanting this as much as he has. He can feel her tightening around him too, and he knows that if she keeps that up this won’t even last long enough to qualify as fast.

“Babe, you gotta stop that …”

She shakes her head and teases him again, clenching and holding.

“Peyton …”  
“Fast,” she instructs.

“This is too …”

“Nathan,” she demands in his ear, “ _fast_.”  
“This is _my_ fantasy!” he protests.

“So, a pantie-less cheerleader in just a skirt and bra saying the faster the better _isn’t_ your fantasy?”

“In my fantasy the pantie-less cheerleader has time to get off too.”

She takes one of his hands from her hip and places it just above where their bodies are joined.

“This cheerleader’s been thinking about this for the last few hours. Trust me, it’s not gonna take much.”

He rubs his thumb over her and feels her quiver beneath him.

“Oh, you are so ready,” he smirks, applying a little more pressure.

“Oh …” she gasps.

“Yeah?”

“Oh … yeah.”

“Want me, huh?”

“Nate,” she drawls, “it’s been three days.”

“Three days and you’re climbing the walls?” he teases.

“Seriously? If you aren’t gonna do this, I’ll get off you and go do it myself!” she warns.

“Oh no you fucking won’t,” he growls and thrusts up forcefully once, twice and again while his thumb circles and she moans gently, her head thrown back, eyes closed.  She’s right on the brink and he knows it, withdrawing his hand, making her eyes fly open in protest. His hands lift her up until he’s almost, but not quite lifted her right off him. He holds her there, sitting just, just on him, teasing her, feeling her arching towards him.

“Nathan …”

He widens his eyes at her, blue searching green. How well does she know him, he wonders, really? And she answers that unspoken question right away. She knows he wants her, needs her, to … not beg … but to tell him how much she wants him and he wants to hear it plainly, boldly.  She arches up a little, pressing herself against him harder, brushing that turquoise bra against his chest and leaning to his ear, drawing her lips and tongue over his ear lobe.

“Nathan,” she murmurs again, “don’t make me wait; I can’t. I want you, all of you, inside me. Please.”

He’s driving into her before she’s even finished speaking and from there it’s only moments before they let go together.

A little later, not much, he lifts her head from his shoulder and smiles against her mouth as he kisses her softly.

“Best cheerleader fantasy come to life,” he grins.

“Oh really?” she answers with a twinkle in her eye.

“Hell yeah. I dunno how you do it but you still always know what I want to …”

“Maybe it’s like a sex soul mate thing,” she says with a soft laugh, “if that can be a thing.”

“I think we make it a thing. God, it was always amazing with us, even when we were kids, but this is a whole different …”

“Mmmm,” she says. “So, is it my turn now?”

“Your turn?”  
“My basketball sex fantasy?”

“You see … just the fact that you have a sex fantasy that involves basketball makes you incredible.”

“So, you’ll wear my skirt?” she asks with a straight face.

“You … what?” his jaw drops.

“Kidding!”

“Good. ‘Cos that thing is tiny.”  
“And that’s the only reason you wouldn’t put it on?” she teases.

“So, tell me about your basketball sex fantasy, Sawyer. How kinky is it?”

“Not especially, but it would involve sneaking into the boys’ locker room at the high school.”

“I’ll need to borrow Luke’s keys. Or Skills’. I’m not staff; I’ve got keys to the gym and weight room as a favour but not the team’s locker room.”

“You do that, then,” she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Why don’t you surprise me sometime?”

“You are asking for trouble; you know that?”

“Well seeing as though you can’t make _my_ fantasy come true right now, maybe I can ask you for something else? To tide me over?”

“Seems fair. What do you need?”

“I need you to pick me up and lay me down on that nice sturdy looking table.”

“Oh really? And then what?”  
“I’m sure you can think of something.”

He does as she suggests, then places his hands flat on the table, one at either side of her waist, leaning over her to kiss her.   
“Something like that, maybe?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And maybe something like this?” he says as he trails his lips down over her collarbone, darting his tongue along the edge of the turquoise lace.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You know, as much as I love this bra,” he says, lifting her a little with one hand while the other reaches behind her to expertly unclasp it, “it’s really time it came off.”

He gently removes the lingerie from her, circling his index fingers around her nipples, leaning to take first one, then the other, into his mouth, kissing, tonguing, sucking.

Her fingers entwine in his hair, while her breath shortens. Before she knows it, those amazing lips of his are drawing fire across the top of that skirt, which he pushes down a little to place open mouthed, just moist enough kisses over her hip bones.  His fingers are drawing the zip of the skirt down so he can remove it when she places her hands over his.

“I just realised … I don’t have another condom,” she murmurs.

“Don’t need one for what I’m about to do to you,” he smirks, completing the downward pull on the zip and wriggling the fabric down past her hips, drawing it down over her perfect legs.

“Oh really?”

He nods, trailing his finger down over her hip, her thigh, her knee, her shin, encircling her ankle with his forefinger and thumb and lifting her foot to rest it on his shoulder.

“I _think_ this might help ‘tide you over’ until I can drag you into that boys’ locker room,” he grins.

“This?” she asks in a sultry tone, applying a little pressure into his shoulder with her heel and raising her hips off that table. “Whatever do you mean, Mr Scott?”

“Hussy,” he declares as he bends to place his lips on her hip bone once again before trailing them inch by inch downwards.

“It’s all your fault,” she says. “You make me completely wanton.”

“It’s my superpower,” he answers before lifting her hips up and making her moan as his tongue finds her core.

 

When Brooke wakes up on Nathan’s couch, she’s more than a little surprised to discover she’s been out for hours and that it’s nearly 8am. She looks down at her old high school cheer uniform and chuckles as she remembers the night before. She can smell coffee so she stretches, stands and pads into the kitchen with that ice cream bowl in hand.

“What the hell?” she declares, at the sight that greets her. Her best friend is at the end of the kitchen counter, in tight yoga style sweat pants and a skimpy tank top, bent forward, leaning her forearms on the counter, eyes closed with a blissful look on her face. However, that’s not what initiated Brooke’s _what the hell_. It’s the fact that Nathan is standing behind Peyton, _right_ behind Peyton, with his hands spread across the blonde’s lower back.

“Hey Brooke,” Nathan says smoothly, “coffee’s made. Sawyer twinged her back last night. Must’ve been that crazy leap she made for that block.”

“Oh. Right,” Brooke says looking from Nathan to her best friend, shaking her head a little and reaching for a mug.

“You okay, P?”  
“What? Yeah.”

“You look kind of spaced out.”  
“It’s just the back rub,” Peyton replies with an accompanying moan as Nathan digs his thumbs in. “Releasing pressure points. Or something.”

“You know,” Brooke laughs, “when I came around the corner into the kitchen you two looked seriously dodgy.”  
“Dodgy?” Nathan repeats.

“Um ... yeah.”  
“Why?”

“Look at you two. P’s leaning forward over the counter and you’re all up against her. From the doorway that is seriously dirty looking.”

Nathan grins saucily. “What can I say? You know you both want me.”

Peyton reaches behind and slaps his hand, then plays along with his cheeky comment, throwing a wink at Brooke as she speaks, hamming it up.

“Ooh, Nathan. Ooh, yeah. Right there, baby. Push harder.”

She raises her eyebrow at Brooke. “Dirty enough for you B.?”

Brooke puts her mug down with a chuckle. “I have to go. Duty calls. And that was too … something.”

She’s halfway to the door into the hall when she turns around and looks at them.

“You know, it’s kind of almost too bad you two are just best buds ‘cos really? You look seriously hot together.”  She continues out of the kitchen, then pops her head back around the corner. “And Pathan babies? Ohmigod. Supermodel material!”

When they hear the front door close, and are sure she’s not coming back, they both exhale.

“Shit,” Peyton breathes. “That was a close call.”

“She has no idea how right she was,” he chuckles.

“What?”

“All _up_ against you?” he smirks, pressing his hips against her.

“Mmm,” she says, pushing herself back into him, “up indeed.”

“God, you’re so sexy,” he says, pulling back a little and turning her round, pulling her in to place a lingering kiss on her lips.

“Nathan?”

“Mmm?”

“Take me up to your bedroom right now.”

“Really?” he asks, as if shocked. “In an _actual_ bed? How … unusual!”

She tugs the hem of his t-shirt up and over his chest, drops the garment on the floor, runs her fingernail down his chest, over his abs and along the waist of his sweats, takes his hand and starts pulling him towards the doorway.

“Ready for round 3?” she throws back over her shoulder.

“I think you could feel how ready I am when you wriggled your sexy hips back into me, but it’s round 1.”

“You have a short memory.”  
“We’ve slept, so the counter starts again.”

“You trying to break records or something?”  
“Now there’s a thought …”

 

Later, much later, they’re lying spent and covered in just his sheets, her leg hooked over his, his arm holding her close, her fingertips tracing abstract doodles on his chest.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hmm?”  
“So … who _was_ your best kisser ever?”  
“Didn’t the wink give it away?”

“Winks are ... open to interpretation.”

“You want me to tell you you’re a better kisser than your brother, don’t you?”

“Among other things, I want to hear I’m better at than him, yeah.”

“Basketball? Well … you played pro. You’re _playing_ pro again pretty soon. That’s obvious,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“Sawyer …”  
“I’m not going to compare the two of you! It’s … weird. And not right.”   
“So, don’t compare us directly. Just …”  
“Nathan. C’mon! Since when have you needed … reassurance about this?”  
He shrugs, but those puppy dog eyes turn down and he blinks at her quickly.

“Oh, my God,” she says. “You have no cause for concern, alright!?”

“Good. Can’t have you not being satisfied. So,” he says with barely contained pride, “we know three days is your upper limit.”

“I know!” she says with mock dramatics. “What ever will I do when you’re back into game mode?”

“What?” he asks, pulling back so he can see her expression.

“You’ll have strings of away games. Plus, I seem to remember a no sex on game day rule,” she reminds him.

“Stupid rule,” he grumbles. “Who came up with that?”

“Um … you.”

He grins against her cheek and she turns to poke his chest. “What’s up?”

“You,” he says, “that’s kind of the first time you’ve given any indication that this isn’t ending any time soon.”

“Or maybe it’s just a realisation that I need a backup stud,” she teases with a flirty look.

“Oh no! No backup studs. Sawyer, I don’t share. I _won’t_ share.”

“You don’t _share_?” she asks, a little outraged, pushing him away as her temper flares. “What am I? A toy in your sandbox?”

“What? No … I just …”

“We already said this was …”

“I believe _exclusive_ is the word you’re looking for,” he says with an edge to his voice.

“Yeah. So why the hell make a shitty comment about sharing?”

“You’re the one that said you’d bring in a backup stud!” he almost whines.

“It was a _joke_!”

“It wasn’t a very funny one!”

“You think I’d do that? Nathan!”

“I … well, _would_ you?”  
“This from the guy that shared _himself_ around _quite a bit_ when we were …”

“I thought we’d dealt with that, Peyton.”

“We did,” she sighs, knowing she shouldn’t have said it. “I …”

“You _know_ how much I regret being such a dick to you!” he protests, more than a little hurt at what feels a lot like an accusation when he really thought they’d left that behind.

“I know. I didn’t mean to … I’m _sorry_. I didn’t mean to beat you up with that. It’s in the past. I don’t … I _really_ don’t think about it now.”

“I do,” he concedes. And he still, maybe, feels guilty, which explains his reaction. His _over_ reaction.

“What?” she asks, reaching for his hand.

“I do. Sometimes. Still.”

“Is that where the sharing comment came from?”

“Maybe. I just …”

“I _wouldn’t,”_ she said, gazing at him pleadingly. “Nathan, I wouldn’t.”

“I know. I do. I just … maybe I still don’t get how you can forgive all that and be in … this … whatever this is, with me.”

“I can be in _this … whatever this is_ , with you because you are _not_ that guy anymore. Because you are a great guy. Because you make me feel safe. Because I trust you completely. Because I know whatever happens, you will always be there for me and I will always be there for you. And … because … well,” she drawls, crinkling her nose rather adorably, “you are _kind_ of hot.”

And just like that the fight’s over. He loves the way she can just _let it go_ then crack a joke. He wonders if she’d been able to do that all those years ago, if they’d have made it through everything. Not that he thinks she _should_ have let his crappy behaviour go, but some of the other … anyway …

“And I’m really good in bed,” he quips.

“And modest,” she retorts with an amused shake of her head.

“Just quoting your words back to you.”

“And when did I say those words?” she asks, slightly incredulous.  
“Well, it’s implied every time you call out my name when I’m making you …”  
“When did I say those words, you jerk!?”

“Boy toy auction. When I pushed you in the pool?”

She pauses to think. “Dammit. I did too,” she concedes.

“I was so close to making a move on you that night,” he muses.

“Close? You kinda did really, or at least made it so clear that you …”

“I know. The last little bit of me being a dick.”  
“You didn’t though. And I appreciated it.”  
“What do you mean?”

“Another Scott boy making me into ‘ _the other woman’_?”

“Hmm. True. Well … I wouldn’t have got very far anyway. You’d have burnt my ass if I’d actually done what I felt like doing.”

“Yeah,” she agrees cautiously. “At least I hope I would’ve.”

“You saying I would’ve been too hard to turn down?” he smirks, rolling to be right up against her, running his palm over her thigh.

“Pleading the fifth.”

“How about now?” he says suggestively, drawing the sheet off her.

“Oh, you’re definitely hard to turn down now.”

“So, don’t.”

“You really are trying to set records, huh?”

“Seems appropriate. I set them. You make them.”

“Witty.”  
“Shut up and kiss me, woman.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always easy finding time to be together, especially when they're keeping the fact that they ARE spending time together a secret. And when the general craziness of life keeps them apart for a bit, Nathan and Peyton get a bit antsy. Just as well they're grown ups now and don't resort to being non-communicative teenagers ...

The next few days are crazy for them both. It seems like he’s doubling up on work outs, and like she’s doubling up on hours in the office. Brooke’s in town so they wouldn’t have had nights together anyway, probably, unless they’d somehow found a sneaky way to manage it. Somehow there just hadn’t been time to come up with a devious plan.

To be honest, Peyton’s crawled into bed absolutely shattered every night, so the timing’s been kind of convenient, but by the time her roomie heads back to New York on Friday, it’s been six days since she’s actually seen Nathan and she feels like she’s in withdrawal. Texts and phone calls are all very well, but …

She’s sitting at her desk late afternoon, and thinking about calling him to check he’s heading over that night, as he usually does the Friday night that Brooke heads back to Clothes over Bros HQ, when the door between Tric and her office opens, and he walks in, closely followed by Chris.

“You two been out bonding?” she quips with a laugh, knowing that while Nathan can, just, tolerate Chris these days if he runs into him, he’d never actually make plans with him.

“Yeah,” drawls her employee jokingly, “just been schooling young Scott on the b’ball court.”

“On the _what_?” she laughs. “The ‘ _b’ball_ ’ court? You are so not cool enough to pull that off, Keller.”

“Anyways,” he says as he heads towards the sound booth, “thought I’d run you through a couple of tracks I put down last night before you head off for the weekend. I think you might be persuaded of my coolness when you hear them, Goldilocks.”

“Sure. Be with you in a sec.”

She turns to Nathan, who has flopped on the chair in front of her desk.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey yourself, stranger.”  
“I know. Mad week, huh?”

“Too mad.”

“I was just gonna call you, see if I’m heading out to pick you up later.”  
“We’re Brooke-free for a week?”

“I wonder if this is what parents feel like when they get rid of the kids for a weekend?” she chuckles. He throws a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Chris is occupied, then leans forward to place his elbows on the desk, gesturing for her to do likewise.

“Nathan!” she protests.

“What?”  
“I’m not kissing you here!” she whispers.  
“Bit presumptuous, Sawyer,” he jokes, taking her back to the first night of the road trip. “I wasn’t going to risk anything like that. I was just going to say,” he lowers his voice and stares her down, “that, if what you mean is that with the kids, or in this case the _Brooke_ , away, the parents, or in this case the _Nathan and Peyton_ , will _play_ , then I’m sure it’s just the same feeling.”

“Play, huh? What _ever_ do you mean? Play ball? Play music?” she asks, playing dumb.

“Play house,” he says with a wink, leaning back, folding his arms across his chest. She loves it when he does that, his long, strong fingers on one arm, the other bicep pushed up a bit from the hand tucked underneath. Those arms. She realises he’s laughing at her.

“What?” she blinks.

“Stop ogling me, Sawyer.”  
“I … wasn’t,” she replies, knowing how feeble she sounds. “Okay. I admit it. I was.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I missed your hot bod this week, too.”

“Nate!” she protests, looking across at the studio. Thankfully Keller’s got head phones on and is engrossed in what he’s doing.

“How long before you’ll be back at your place?” Nathan asks.

“Couple of hours.”  
“Alright,” he says, getting to his feet. “I’ll be there by seven.”  
“You don’t want me to pick you up on the way home?”

She usually does; every second Friday when Brooke has headed out. That way there was no Scott vehicle parked in the driveway to give them away.

“Nope. Got a couple of things to do. I’ll grab a cab tonight.”

She frowns. He hasn’t done that before. This is weird. She stands too, moving around the desk.

“Fine,” she says with an offhanded tone and an even more off-handed shrug.  
“What?” he asks, recognising something is off.

“Nothing.”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are, but fine, if you don’t wanna say, don’t.”

“ _You’re_ being weird,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Sorry?”  
“Nothing,” she says brightly, and fakely. He gives her a doubtful look but falls into step beside her as she walks towards the studio.

“So,” she says after a few steps.

“Seven.”

“Yeah. Seven.”

He gives her another odd look as he reaches the door, and she just shrugs and frowns. Neither of them has any idea what that was.

It’s seven thirty, and she’s just about convinced herself he’s not going to turn up at all. She’s driving herself crazy watching the hands on the clock in the living room and checking her phone for a text from him. She doesn’t especially like that she’s doing either, so she throws her phone into her bag and decides to go soak in a hot bath and try to convince herself she’s _not_ sitting there on a Friday night waiting for Nathan Scott to show whenever he’s done with whatever it is that’s more important than her. And damn, if she doesn’t feel sixteen again. And damn, that is not a good thing. Not in this case.

It’s almost eight when she hears him calling out from downstairs, then his footfalls coming up the stairs.

“Peyt? You up here?”

“Bath,” she calls out.

“Alright!” he says as he walks into the bathroom, pulling his T-shirt over his head. “Already undressed! Perfect.”

Yup. Just like they’re sixteen again.

“What the hell, Nathan!?” she yells at him. “Get out!”

“What? Why?” he looks genuinely confused at her strident tone and angry face.

“What!?” she fires off. “Turn up an hour late and just expect me to be ready and waiting for a romp?”

“Wh ... what’s going on?” he asks, scratching his chin in confusion. “You _are_ being weird! You were before and now you’re …”

“You’re late,” she says again.

“The cab company’s really busy and I had to stop and get some stuff.”

“Stuff? You mean condoms so you can have lots of sex while Brooke’s away, right?”

He stands, scratching the back of his head now.

“Um,” he starts. “Look. I don’t know what I’ve done, but if you want me go, just fucking well say so. You don’t need to get all …”

She just glares at him. She has no idea what the hell has happened. It’s just gone … he shakes his head, bends to grab his T-shirt and turns to walk out. She almost lets him go. Almost. But hell, she _isn’t_ sixteen anymore. And this is ridiculous.

“Nate,” she says quietly.

He stops, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Don’t leave,” she continues even more quietly.

He drops the shirt again and turns back, stepping across the bathroom and sitting on the side of the bath.

“ _What_ is going on?” he asks her, concern and confusion etched across his face.

“I don’t know. I just …”

“You just _what_?”  
“I … I usually pick you up for Brooke-less Friday night,” she says softly.

He shakes his head, a small smile forming, then leans forward to kiss her softly. “Peyton …” he starts.

“I’m an idiot!” she says, shaking her own head. “Sorry. I just … I don’t know why you saying you didn’t want me to pick you up made me freak out.”

“I did not tell you I didn’t _want_ you to pick me up. I just said I had a couple of things to do and I’d catch a cab tonight.”

“Same thing,” she mumbles.  
“Not really. ‘Cos the _couple of things_ I wanted to do were for you.”

“Oh.”  
“And because I wanted to _surprise_ you, I really didn’t want to have to ask you to stop outside that ritzy little wine shop you like so much, where I got a couple of bottles of that pinot you’ve been going on about wanting to try …”

“Oh.”

“Or outside that little place that stocks that Swiss chocolate you like with the orange peel in it.”  
“Oh.”

“Or outside the florists.”

“You got me flowers?” she says, shocked.  
“Actually no,” he grins, “I made up the bit about the florists. Geeze, woman, you are _so_ demanding! Is wine and chocolate not enough?”

“I’m an idiot,” she repeats, looking slightly embarrassed.

“True, but I’ll forgive you ‘cos you’re an idiot that’s naked in a hot bath,” he says with a smirk. She frowns a bit at that. “No,” he says, catching her look, “I am not just expecting lots of sex while your roomie’s away!”

“Sorry,” she sighs.

“Okay, that’s the last time you’re apologising, Sawyer,” he says, standing and removing his jeans and boxers. “Move.”  
“What?”

“Move forward.”

She does, and he steps in and sits behind her, wrapping one arm around her, pulling her back to lean against his chest, and moving her hair off her shoulder to kiss it.

“I think,” he says, kissing up her neck, “that a week is too long.”

“A week without …”  
“I don’t mean sex. Well … I don’t mean _just_ sex. I mean we’ve barely spoken this week and that’s probably why it got all weird.”

“ _It_ didn’t get weird. _I_ got weird is what you mean.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But either way, you’re thinking that this is all about sex. And only sex. Right?”

“Isn’t it?”  
“I don’t think so, no.”

“Then what …?” she says, turning to look at him.

He looks at her for a moment, wondering what the right answer is to that. He’s not sure he knows what the right answer is for _him_ , let alone for her.

“I don’t know,” he says in the end. “But … just don’t think that’s _all_ it is. You’re still my best friend and I still have your back and I still care about you and, as much as I love Davis, I don’t love it when she goes to New York just ‘cos it means I’ll get laid. I won’t lie; I do love that we have a week of seriously good sex when she’s away, but I also love that we can just hang out and not have to pretend.”

“So … if I said it would be really good if tonight we could just hang and drink that wine and eat that chocolate, that’d be okay?”  
“Of course, you idiot. Throw in a good movie?”  
“Sure.”

“You gonna stop being weird now?”  
“Yeah. Sor …”  
“No more apologies,” he interrupts her, shaking his head and then resting it against hers for a moment.

She grins and relaxes back against him, closing her eyes, feeling his chest slowly rise and fall behind her, his thighs alongside hers, his chin nestling into the dip in her shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around her.

“Hey,” she says after a while.  
“Hmmm?”  
“I think you were right.”  
“I generally am,” he says confidently.

“Oh, of course,” she laughs.

“What was I right about this time?”

“A week _is_ too long.”

“So, we’ll make sure we don’t go a week without checking in properly.”

“Good,” she says firmly. “Ohmigod, this almost sounds like we’re …”

“What?”  
“Dating!?”

“Who needs a label?” he says, his chin still tucked over her shoulder. “Let’s just … do what we want to do.”  
“Yeah. You’re right.”  
“Again,” he adds smoothly.

“Well, I was going to tell you that you were right about something else too, but I don’t think I will now. Your ego might explode all over my bathroom.”

“You’ll tell me.”  
“You’re pretty sure about that, Scott.”  
“If you weren’t going to tell me, you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”  
“You are so much smarter than you used to be, you know that?” she says with a grin. But she waits, ‘cos she knows the curiosity will get to him.

“Fine,” he says after a long few minutes of silence. “ _Please_ tell me what else I was right about.”

She turns in his arms to face him and, careful not to send water cascading over the side of the bath, moves to straddle him.

“A week’s too long,” she says against his lips, “for a lot of things.”

“You said …”

“Mmm,” she agrees next to his ear. “Hang out. Wine. Chocolate. Movie.” She runs her left hand down his bicep and forearm until her fingers find his, then entwines them before she smiles against his mouth and starts sucking on his bottom lip.

“Sawyer …” he moans into her mouth, “you …”  
“You said just do what we want to do, right?”  
“Mmm, but ...”  
“What _I_ want to do, Nathan Scott, is get you out of this bath and into my bed.”

“Peyton Sawyer,” he says mischievously, running his free hand down over her hip, “did you say you want to get me off in this bath and then again in your bed?”

“Close enough, I guess.”  
“Not quite,” he mumbles, freeing his other hand and gripping her hips, hauling her closer against him until there’s nothing but skin on skin and mouth on mouth.

 

 

It’s a great week. They spend the weekend at her place, not doing much except run in the morning, hang out in the living room with Nathan reviewing old games and Peyton listening to demos and chasing up a few odd things for the label. They cook together on Saturday, order in on Sunday and head into Wilmington, where they know they won’t get busted, for dinner out on Monday.

Tuesday and Wednesday, he insists they head to the beach house; he’s got weights and other gear set up there and he won’t go more than a couple of days without a serious work out. When she casts her eyes over his shirtless body and tells him yeah, right, he seriously needs to muscle up a bit, he tells her to settle down, that this is his _job_. She tells him, running a finger down his chest, that he’s _very good_ at his job. He tells her it’s just as well she thinks so because pretty soon, he’s going to be upping the ante more, that it’ll be _every_ day that he’s working out, and for much longer than what he’s been doing lately.

Thursday morning, she wakes next to him, liking the feeling of his hand on her lower back, not liking the thought that tonight Brooke gets back and it’ll be a week before she gets to wake up like this again. She shakes that thought away, and slips from the bed.

He’s usually up well before her, but when he wanders into the kitchen a half hour later, he still looks sleepy. She pours fresh coffee into a mug and passes it to him, telling him she’s got eggs beaten and is ready to start cooking when he’s woken up properly. He looks at the clock and frowns.

“Wow, I slept in late,” he says in surprise. “You must’ve worn me out last night.”

“More like the three hours on the court, followed by two hours of weights wore you out,” she tells him.

“Followed by a night of …”  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she interrupts. “That’s all your fault, buster.”  
“My _fault_?” he asks with mock outrage.

“Totally your fault,” she nods with a cheeky grin. “You come in all hot and sweaty and ripped? What’s a girl to do?”

“Well then, I think it’s _your_ fault.”

“Mine?” she says, eyes wide, all innocence.

“Yeah, I come in and you’re here, lounging about in little short silky things, with your hair all piled up in that awesome messy thing you do with it, and your legs all … long and … and leggy … and smelling all sweet and spicy at the same time.”

“New shampoo and lotion,” she says, nodding as if they were discussing a serious business matter. “My old one’s not around anymore. I like this one, though. What do you think?”

“I think what shampoo and … other … girly stuff you use is completely up to you.”

“But did you like the smell?”  
“You always smell ridiculously good.”

“Aww, you’re sweet,” she grins.

“I am _not_ sweet,” he denies. “Cook me my eggs,” he then demands, pointing at the pan in a manly show of bossiness that he can’t quite pull off without cracking up. She rolls her eyes at him but pushes the newspaper towards him, already folded open to the sports section, and turns to start the eggs.

“Hey,” he says just as she’s picking up the bowl of beaten eggs.

“Mmm?” she says over her shoulder.

“I like mornings like this.”

She smiles down at the eggs, kind of glad he can’t see the colour she’s sure is on her cheeks, and not wanting to think about what it might mean that Nathan Scott is making her blush like a school girl.

“Yeah,” she agrees without turning around, “it’s good to start the day with a solid breakfast, right?”

“’Cos _that’s_ what I meant,” he teases back.

“Well make the most of it,” she says, pouring the eggs into the sizzling pan. “The Brookie Monster’s back today.”

“No repeat of last week, right?” he asks, all serious.

“Nope. You know what I think part of it was?”  
“Yeah, we didn’t run last week,” he answers quickly, having been thinking the exact same thing.  
“My thoughts exactly. Why didn’t we?”

“Dunno. You had a couple of early conference calls, I had a couple of early workouts ‘cos I was working around Skills’ timetable.”

“So?” she asks, and he knows she means so what are they going to do about it, not so as in so what.  
“Running. Every morning. No exceptions,” he supplies.

“Good. I’ll schedule around it,” she agrees.

He nods. “It’s good,” he states certainly, “that we run together. It’s like … we _run_ together when we run together. That really didn’t make sense.”  
“Sure it did,” she assures him, sliding a plate in front of him and taking the bar stool next to him, and leaning over to kiss him quickly. “It’s like … keeping an engine running; you have to lubricate it.”

“Lube?” he says, eyebrow raised and a devilish grin forming.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Like I said,” he answers, with his fork poised, “all your fault.”

“How now?” she asks before taking a mouthful of eggs.  
He looks at her in disbelief, explains by running his finger tip slowly from her knee up to the hem of her silky chemise, which is _well_ above mid-thigh, then inserts his fork into his mouth. He chews a couple of times.

“Mmm. Yum. Good eggs,” he says then nods his head at her legs. “ _Totally_ your fault. Need I say more?”

“Not with your mouth full, no. Manners!”

He looks at her legs again, then sweeps his gaze up over her to meet her amused green eyes.

“Finish your eggs, Sawyer,” he instructs. “Stat.”

She raises her eyebrow in question.

“Finish your eggs,” he repeats. “You’re gonna need the fuel.”

“Mmm,” she agrees, “I do have a big day lined up, and there’s dinner with Brooke tonight.”  
“Your big day is starting late,” he says before taking another bite.

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“’Cos after we finish these amazing eggs, my _mouth_ is going to be _full_ of a few other things for a while.”

She laughs out loud. “And that affects me how?” she answers flirtatiously.

“You’re the few other things.”

“Now who’s presumptuous, Scott?”  
“Am I wrong, Sawyer?”  
“Nope.”  
“Didn’t think so.”

“Eat your eggs, 23.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey is up to her old tricks, forcing a showdown between Lucas and Nathan and Brooke. Some interesting advice from an old mentor opens Nathan's eyes and, as a result, he takes a risk, pushing Peyton on the nature of their relationship.

**September**

Tric. Friday night. Just after 8. Another week where she’s been doing long hours, usually killing the lights in the studio after 10. It’s worth it but she’s really exhausted and the thought of a glass of something cold while relaxing in a warm bath is the only thing keeping her upright as she locks the studio door and heads into Tric.

Skills is at the bar and, spotting her, waves her over.

“Skinny Girl. ‘Bout time you showed up.” She looks baffled for a moment then looks around and sees Nathan, Lucas, Fergie and Junk across the room, standing in a tight group laughing. Thankfully Nathan has his back to her or she’s sure she’d already be blushing.

“To what? A guys’ night out? I’m a lot of things, Skills, but last time I checked I’m still not a dude.”

He looks at her oddly. “Nope. We’re all here. The girls are at that table over there.” Sure enough, Brooke, Lindsey and a couple of other familiar faces are at a booth beyond the guys.

“That’s kind of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Say what?” he asks, looking confused.

“That you’re all here at the same time.”

“Lindsey put it together, invited everyone to catch up … welcome back sorta thing.”

“Welcome back from where, for who?”

“Her and Luke, from their honeymoon,” he answers, continuing to look at her oddly.

“They’ve been back what? A month?” she asks. “Anyway, I’ve got to go.”

“C’mon Sawyer, stay.”

“Skills,” she says kissing him on the cheek, “it’s a private party. I’m not gonna crash it.”

“Nah, hang on,” he says, stopping her movement with a hand to her forearm. “Are you saying she didn’t ask you?”

“How many beers have you had, Skills?” she laughs. “You’re usually a bit faster on the uptake than that.”

“Dawg. That’s just messed up. I thought that was all done with. I thought Luke had made her stop this shit.”

“Skills, it’s fine,” she assures him, though she’s wondering exactly how much Skills knows about some of the stuff that had gone on before the wedding, and exactly how aware Lucas had been and how much effort he put into trying to stop it; not a lot she suspects. “I’m shattered anyway. I’ve done close to seventy hours this week and I just want to head off. You have a great night.”

Skills returns to the group, throwing Luke a remorseful look, which is returned by a defensive one from his fellow Ravens coach, followed by an almost aggressive verbal onslaught from the blond Scott when Skills shakes his head in disappointment at Lucas.

“Skills? What’s the problem? Did Peyton get in your ear? It’s kind of rude that she’s blowing us off.”

“Luke, man, she’s not blowing us off. Lindsey blew _her_ off; your wife didn’t tell her it was on, didn’t invite her.”

“No; I’ve talked to her about this,” Lucas denies. “Lindsey wouldn’t do that.”

“Do that _anymore_ you mean!” Skills argues. “Dude, it’s pretty well established that she’s done plenty of that in the past. I’m serious; Baby Girl had no idea this was on. She said she didn’t want to crash a private party.”

Peyton makes it to her car to find that her car keys are not in her bag. Sighing heavily, she runs back up the stairs, through to the studio and finds her keys on her desk, in plain sight. She pulls an exasperated face at them, grabs them and spins on her heel, ready to head back out, when the door flies open.

“What are you doing?” the new arrival demands.

“Lucas? I forgot my keys. Just came back for them.”

He looks at her in disbelief and she jangles them in front of her to make her point.

“No. I meant why are you leaving?”

“Lucas,” she sighs. “It’s fine. You don’t need to pretend anymore. Not to me, not to anyone else, and not to yourself, okay?”

“Pretend what?”

“You don’t need to invite me to things like this. I get it. It’s fine. I’m fine. Have a great night with your friends.”

“Seriously? That’s your story?” he asks, almost belligerently.

“My _story_?” she repeats with exasperation. “It’s not a _story_.”

“We’re sorting this out now,” he states and grabs her arm, pulling her along behind him into Tric and across to the group, coming to a halt next to Brooke and Nathan, who are chatting together. Lindsey is seated, talking to Fergie, or _at_ Fergie, and looks up at her husband when he calls for her attention by declaring her name.

“Lindsey!”

Her eyes slide sideways to Peyton and back to Lucas. And really, he knows right away that Peyton is not telling a story and that he should do this in private, discreetly - or rather he should do this _again_ in private, because he’s already told his wife in no uncertain terms that she cannot exclude any of his friends from their plans, and she has to get over this paranoia about Peyton, that he hasn’t done anything untoward and that he would never - but he just can’t stop himself from pursuing the question.

“Lucas?”  
“Linds, Peyton thinks she was deliberately excluded from this.”

“Peyton is correct,” Lindsey replies coolly, unblinkingly.

“Lindsey, we talked about this,” he bites out, oblivious to Peyton’s embarrassment and reluctance.

“No, we didn’t, Lucas. _You_ talked and issued instructions. And _I_ chose not to heed them.”  
He’s dropped Peyton’s arm and taken a half step towards Lindsey, his mouth set in a firm line. Peyton takes the opportunity to quietly step back from the discussion. She feels a hand touch her arm reassuringly and turns. Brooke gives her a small smile, then steps forward next to Lucas.

“Peyton is my _friend_ , Linds.”

“Peyton is your ex-girlfriend, was almost your fiancée, and is still in love with you,” Lindsey counters coolly. “I do not trust her as far as I could throw her, and I _will not_ have her in our home, or at any event that I organise.”

“You’re being _ridiculous_ ,” Lucas hisses. “And you can trust _me_.”

“I am your wife,” Lindsey states coldly. “You chose me. This is what I want. You need to find a way to live with it.”

Nathan has quietly taken a step back too, and stands right behind Peyton, his palm placed discreetly at her back, the warmth and solidness of his touch calming her frazzled nerves.

Lucas pales. He really thought this was all over with. He’s been struggling with Lindsey’s attitude, which has hardened immeasurably since they got back, even though he has been faultlessly attentive to her, even though he has kept well away from Peyton. _Why_ he’s kept away from Peyton is no one’s business but his own. And now Lindsey’s putting him in an impossible situation in front of almost everyone that matters to him. While he might be struggling with what to do and what to say, Brooke has no such qualms.

“Lindsey, what’s your fucking problem?” the brunette spits.

“How _dare_ you speak to me like that, Brooke?”  
“No. How dare _you_!? You’ve brought us all here on the pretext that this is a ‘welcome back’ for the pair of you and that _all_ of your friends, all of _Lucas’ friends_ were invited. Why would you leave out one of the most important friends?”  
“She’s not a friend of mine.”  
“Well then more fool you!” Brooke says with scorn. “You’re missing out on one of the best you could hope for. And why? Because you’re an insecure bitch who can’t get over yourself.”

“Brooke!” Lucas exclaims, leaping to his wife’s defence.

“Shut up, Broody! You clearly don’t have the balls to defend your friend properly, so I’m doing it for you. Lindsey, Peyton bowed out months and months before you even _got_ married. We all saw it. We all knew it. She was gracious and kind and sacrificing, as she almost always is. You took that and you beat her up with it for months. And worse, you dragged Haley into it and you dragged me into it for a while too.”

“Haley was a willing ally. She saw what was going on,” Lindsey pouts with her arms crossed across her chest.

“Nothing was going on back then!” Lucas, yelling now, then realising how what he just said might be interpreted, quickly continuing to cover. “And nothing is going on _now_. But I should be able to have my friends included in things like this, a get together for _all of us_ to catch up.”

“Yeah, right,” mutters Brooke.

“What the hell, Brooke?”  
“Luke, if you think this is a get together to catch up, you’re blind. This was clearly designed to make a statement to P.”

“It’s a welcome back and chance to see everyone.”

“You’ve been back how long?” the brunette asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Um … four weeks yesterday.”

She looks around the group. “Alright, people, is there anyone here _at all_ who has _not_ already caught up with Luke and Lindsey since they’ve been back?”

They all look around, shaking heads, muttering. No one can volunteer a yes.

“See Luke; not so much a catch up or welcome back.”

As Brooke speaks and gestures, Peyton neatly steps to the side of Nathan, then behind him. She slides her hand down his back, and stands to whisper near his ear. “See you back at your place. Or call me if you need a lift.”

And she quietly leaves, with no one else noticing.

Lindsey is growing more agitated. “Lucas? Are you putting a stop to all this nonsense and can we _please_ get on with our evening?”

He shakes his head in defeat and moves as if to sit next to her. He’s clearly giving up. As big a coward as ever, thinks Nathan.

Brooke protests. “Luke! You’re going to cut out P., one of your longest standing friends, because your insanely insecure bitch of a wife says so?”

“What? Like y _ou_ asked me to, Brooke?” he retorts, partly resigned, partly cornered and fighting back.

“That was _years ago,”_ Brooke argues. “And furthermore, it was just plain _wrong_. It was wrong of me to push for it and it was wrong of you to even contemplate doing it. It’s even more wrong now. I was 17; what’s _her_ excuse? And you can’t seriously be letting her get away with this!”

“I ... I …”

“Lucas. What’s it going to be? Peyton stays or I stay?” Lindsey. Finally; the ultimatum. It’s been coming for months, and it’s been right there since they got back from their honeymoon.

Lucas merely stutters, until Nathan steps forward. “You don’t need to make that decision, Luke.”

Everyone looks at him; all of them shocked, Lucas also with something that looks like gratitude, thankful that someone has stepped into back him up.

“He does,” insists Lindsey.

“No. He doesn’t. Because the decision’s been made for him,” Nathan informs her, turning to look toward the exit door, where they can all see Peyton disappearing. “And it’s been made by someone that’s actually got some balls,” he continues wryly, before turning back to look his brother square in the eye. “Luke?”

“Yeah, Nathan?”  
“I’m done,” the brunette says simply.

“What?”  
“I’m done with this. Sawyer’s done nothing wrong. She’s been really careful to have no contact with Lindsey. She’s building her own life and keeping out of yours. You asked her to be your friend and she did. It hurt her at the time but she dealt with it and she did it for you. And this is what she gets back? You’re weak. You’re an idiot. And you don’t deserve a friend like her. I … _I’ve_ been back in your life since the wedding mainly ‘cos she wanted me to, but now? Now I’m done.”

Brooke looks at him, a proud smile on her face, then turns back.

“Sorry, Luke. I’m done too.” Brooke collects her bag and heads, with Nathan, towards the door. Skills looks from Lucas, his oldest friend, to Lindsey, and shakes his head.

“Luke, man, who are you? I … well we’ve been friends since second grade and I can’t be done with you. But if your missus can’t be in a room with Skinny Girl, I can’t be in a room with your missus. Call me if you want to shoot around sometime.”

He jogs out, catching the other two and heading down the stairs with them.

After a brief chat with Brooke and Skills, Nathan thinks about calling Peyton to come back and get him but decides he needs some space to breathe. So, he starts the long walk home from Tric. When he gets to the cemetery, he stops. He’s never been one for talking to headstones, not like Peyton and not like Lucas, but he finds himself standing at Keith’s grave. He can’t bring himself to speak out loud, but he thinks the words he needs to say, figuring if there’s any point to this communicating at headstones thing, he’ll be heard regardless of whether the words are uttered aloud or not.

_‘C’mon Keith. I need your help here. What do I do with him?’_

There is silence, of course. But then a voice startles him.

“Nathan Scott.”

Nathan jumps a little, turns and sees Whitey Durham sitting nearby on a bench.

“Coach,” Nathan acknowledges, as he steps a little lcoser. “Visiting Camilla?”

“Always. Don’t see you here too often. Or at all, come to think of it. Funny time of day for you to be visiting Keith,” Whitey observes. “Looking for something?”

“A little help, I guess.”

“How about _you_ take a seat and help _me_ with something, then maybe I can help you.”

Nathan sits next to his old coach, leaning forward, his arms resting on his thighs.

“What can I possibly help you with, Coach?”

“Some rumours I’m hearing.”

Nathan throws the old man a questioning look.

“About an old player of mine about to be announced as the Bobcats’ new, well old slash new really, point guard.”

Nathan smiles and looks sideways at Whitey.

“You know how it works, Whitey. I couldn’t possibly comment on that.”

“But in a couple of weeks when announcements are made to the media, do you think I might be smiling?”

“You might, I guess, _if_ a comeback like that were to happen.”

“Helluva comeback that’d be, kid.”

“It’d be something alright,” Nathan agrees with a half-smile.

“It _would_ be or it _will_ be?”

“Coach …” he protests, causing the older man to raise his hand in understanding.

The two sit in companionable silence for a while, each pondering the nature of the game, and how it brought each of them back from a pretty desperate place. Eventually Whitey breaks the silence.

“And your help?” he prompts.

Nathan sighs, dragging his hand through his short hair.

“Lucas.”

Whitey nods. He’s heard things, and seen things.

“I’m not sure there’s much you can do there, Nathan. He needs to find his own way back.”

“But he’s hurting people, Coach,” Nathan says, shaking his head. “I mean, ultimately he’s hurting himself the most, but he’s hurting people he cares about, people _I_ care about.”

“And by that you mean a certain ‘people’ in particular.” It’s not a question, but a statement. “I’ve seen you and Blondie around town a bit,” he explains.

“Not so Blondie anymore, Coach.”

“She’ll always be Blondie to me.”

“We’re good friends these days. Leant on each other a lot. Who’d have thought, huh?” He looks sideways to see that Whitey is looking at him sceptically, his cranky old eyebrow raised.

“You’re looking at me with your ‘don’t give me that bullpucky, kid’ face, Coach,” Nathan laughs. “What’s the deal?”

“You said it. Don’t give me that bullpucky, kid!”

Nathan merely looks at him waiting for a clue.  
“ _Friends_!?” Whitey exclaims. “Huh! You love that girl. You did then and you do now.”

“Um … Coach … not …”

Whitey puts his hand up to stop Nathan’s speech of denial.

“Haley James was a good girl, Nathan. She _is_ a good girl.”

“Haley is a _great_ girl, Coach.”

“I’m glad you still think so. And she was good for you for a long time.  But there’s a reason why you leapt into that relationship so quickly way back when …” the old man smiles “… and I’m not just talking about the way you were messing with your brother.”

“What? How …?”

“You kids!  You think your teachers and coaches see nothing. Trust me, we see everything! And you ran to Haley James like your life depended on it … and in a way, it did. And yet after your divorce from Haley … you were pretty okay being solo.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Coach.”

“Back then, your Junior year, was it? You messed up big time and lost your girl. You had a Peyton Sawyer shaped hole in your heart that you couldn’t deal with.”

Nathan chuckles and his old coach looks at him.

“Well, I agree that I messed up big time.”

“You gonna do it again?”

“We’re _friends_ , Whitey.”

“… with that ‘advantages’ thing you kids do these days?”

“Advantages? Oh … benefits? Friends with benefits?”

“That’s it,” Whitey nods, then laughs wrily and the nod turns to a firm shake of head. “The way you kids mess with each other’s hearts, with your _own_ hearts. Beats me.”

“What made you think Sawyer and I ...?”

Whitey laughs at him. “Let’s just say I’ve seen that look on a Scott boy’s face before.”

Nathan’s face is a study in confusion.

“You never were too sharp at history, Nathan.”

“That is very true. Never saw the point – history’s all in the past, right?”

“You watch old game tape to learn from it, don’t you? You never heard that expression about those not understanding the past being doomed to repeat it?”

“I seem to recall one Haley James trying to tell me that once.”

“Smart girl.”

“You wanna tell me what’s on your mind Coach? You clearly want to give me a history lesson of your own.”

“Karen Roe.”

“Karen?”

“Was the Peyton Sawyer for the last generation of Scott boys. It was always going to be one of them; Danny or Keith. Danny screwed it up. It should have been Keith, but he let his honour get in the way for so long, and they both lost it all.”

His young companion still looks lost.

“It’s not so different to you and your brother. You screwed it up. Your brother picked up the pieces. I wouldn’t have picked what followed on from that though.”

“Yeah okay – I can see the parallels,” Nathan says. “Two generations of Scott love triangles, huh?”

“Three.”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t think you ever really knew why your father hated me so much,” Whitey muses, half to himself.

“I knew about the State Championship game and the showdown.”

“Your Dad hated me because _his_ father taught him to, though Dan wouldn’t have been aware of that.”

“Royal? What’s he got to do with …?”

“Did you ever know Royal’s brother?”

“No,” Nathan answers, more than a little confused. “He died when I was really little,” he goes on to explain.

“Now there was a broken man.”

“ _You_ knew him?” Nathan asks, surprised.

“Knew them both.”

“Of course. I forget you were all at Tree Hill High too. Same year?”

“Near enough. That look on your face I mentioned? Used to see it on Royal’s face. And his brother’s.”

Nathan laughs. “ _Another_ Scott brothers’ love triangle?”

“Mention the name Camilla Durham to Royal and you’ll see that look.”

“No way!” Nathan splutters.

“Oh ... way!”

“C’mon Coach … I gotta hear this story.”

“Oh no.  Some history should remain just that. Let’s just say Royal was the one that screwed up and his brother was the one that waited too long.”

Nathan shakes his head and Whitey continues. “So, Camilla became a Durham, not a Scott. And Karen Roe … is not a Scott.”

“Hargrove,” says Nathan. “Karen’s partner ... Andy Hargrove.  Maybe she’ll be a Hargrove one of these days. He’s a great guy.”

“So am I,” retorts Whitey, with a chuckle.  “And I got the girl. You gonna stand back and watch Blondie become a Smith, a Brown, or a … a Baker?”

Nathan just looks at Whitey; taking in this family history is one thing. Answering a question like that one?

“Whitey …”

“That benefitting thing …”

“Taking care of each other …” Nathan murmurs. It sounds ridiculous, he knows. And Whitey just looks confused.

“That’s what we said,” Nathan explains, “just another way to take care of each other. We’d been taking care of all the other … hard stuff … it was supposed to be a onetime thing.”

The old man is shaking his head. These kids!

“Then it was a ‘for a while thing’ … then it didn’t stop.”

“And now you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t …”

“Look at me, Nathan.”

Nathan does as he’s asked, but Whitey doesn’t speak. As the seconds lengthen, Nathan opens his mouth but Whitey holds his hand up.

“Just wait,” he says.

After quite a bit of a wait he looks right at Nathan, says “Peyton Sawyer” and pauses, then chuckles.

“And there’s that Scott boy face.”

He chuckles again. “Nathan Scott. You are in love with that girl even if you don’t know it or just can’t admit it. You know … of all my players you’re the one that’s made me the proudest. Not for the way you play … though that also makes me proud … but for the man you’ve made yourself into against some pretty big odds. I think there’s only one thing you could do to make me prouder.”

“What’s that, Coach?”

“Don’t be the third generation of Scott boy to let the girl get away!” Whitey half shouts at him. “Your brother might be lost right now Nathan, but he’s not stupid. He’ll work out that she’s the one for him too.”

“She says he’s burnt his bridges with her too many times.”

“Maybe so.  Doesn’t mean you should be the one that waits too long.”

He stands up, gripping Nathan on the shoulder.

“I bet you’ve lectured your brother about her a few times over the years, haven’t you?”

Nathans shakes his head in disbelief, then nods his agreement. He has lectured his brother about that girl. Many, many times over the years.

“It’s so easy to see the mistakes other people are making, isn’t it? Not so easy to see it in ourselves. Might be time to lecture yourself.” He takes a couple of steps then turns back.  “Love, Nathan.  At the end of the day, and at the end of your life, it’s all there is.”

And he walks slowly away.

 

 

When he gets back to the beach house, he finds her sitting on the bed, working on her laptop, ear buds in, hair piled up, wearing glasses with tortoiseshell frames. She remains unaware of Nathan standing in the doorway for some time, then stretches, arching back, removing her earbuds as she does.

“You look gorgeous,” he eventually says quietly.  She startles a little, then grins, her eyes twinkling.

“Hey you!”

He feels such a rush when she greets him so warmly; it’s not the words. It’s the tone, all melted honey, and the smile that includes her eyes.

“So how long have we known each other?” he asks, stepping into the room.

“Wow … um … a little bit since grade school, but properly … like in the same orbit known each other? Since we were what? 14 … 15 … so 8 or 9 years?”

“And we dated for nearly 2 of them … and we’ve been best friends since we were what 17, 18?”

“Uh-huh. What’s with the timeline check?”

“So how is that, then, that I never knew you wear glasses?” he asks, joining her on the bed, lying on his side, resting his hand on her hip.

She laughs, touching her fingertips to the arms of the glasses for a moment.

“I don’t really need them. They’re just cheapies from a discount store. Just helpful if I’ve been doing really long hours at the computer and have tired eyes.”

“So maybe instead of resorting to glasses, you should stop working such long hours?”

“But I’m loving it!” she protests. “And Nate, I can _feel_ it happening. _Really_ happening. It’s so close!”

“Yeah?  That’s how I feel about this season. I _feel_ it. I know it’s crazy. Just back from rehab, from near paralysis, but I just … ever since Savannah, I’ve _really_ believed in it again … it’s right there and I … God, I _want_ it.”

“Savannah was pivotal,” she agrees, resting her hand on his for a moment. “Feels so good, huh?”

“Yeah. It really does. And I can go for the glasses, by the way.”

“Even though they’re kinda nerdy looking?”

He takes the laptop, snaps it shut, leans over to place it on floor then swings back, placing his leg over hers and walking his fingers up her torso.

“Nerdy? Babe, my Peyton Sawyer hot cheerleader fantasy just got replaced with a Peyton Sawyer hot librarian fantasy.”

“Nathan Scott!”

“Yup. That’s me.”

“So,” she says, running her fingers through his hair, “you’re back earlier than I expected.  Thought you might really tie one on with guys tonight?”

“Yeah, well my weakass brother put paid to that, didn’t he? I’ve just been walking around …”

“You should’ve called. I said I’d come get you.”

“Nope.  Needed to clear my head,” he says, flopping on to his back.

“You’re letting Lucas get to you?”

“The question is … how aren’t you?  God, Peyton, tonight was just … words fail me.”

“Nathan, you need to let it go,” she warns gently. “‘Cos I have. Nothing your brother does can touch me anymore.  He’s done all the harm he’ll ever do.  I thought I’d try and do the right thing and be friends, or whatever.  But I’m just … _done_! If I feel anything at all for him, it’s a little pity. Because he just isn’t the guy he used to be.  And I don’t know if that’s the whole ‘my Dad didn’t want me’ thing catching up with him, or if he really was broken by that whole LA proposal mess …”

“It’s not _your_ fault!” he says firmly.

“No. That’s not where I was going with that. Lucas and I?  We’ve hurt each other a lot over the years, but I honestly think he’s done more to hurt me than I have him. His was always more conscious, more deliberate, maybe even … calculated, especially in the last few months before the wedding.  But … I know I’ve done everything I could to make it right.  And it just won’t be.  And I’ve let so much go, for the sake of being ‘friends’.  But the reality is that we were never friends before the high school dating mess started.  Friends came after and looking back on it, us being friends was maybe kind of forced ‘cos there was always something on one side or the other that _wasn’t_ just friends.  So ... I’m done.  No more making allowances and no more excuses.  I’m just done.”

“Yup.  Me too.”

“No, Nathan _you_ can’t be. We’ve had this conversation before. He’s your brother.”

“Not while he’s like this, he’s not.  Look, you have to love your brother, I get that.  But I don’t have to _like_ him. And I don’t like what he’s become.  I don’t need or want that shit in my life.  And I can’t spend time with people that don’t value what I value and that hurt the _people_ I value. There’s only two things I want to focus on for now; this coming basketball season for one. It’s gonna be my best ever.  Like I said, I know that’s a big call but I just feel it.  And I’m ready to throw everything at it.”

“You’re gonna be so great … I feel it too. You better get me a season pass, dude!”

“Family seat?”

“Really?  That’d be so awesome.  I’ll be your biggest cheerleader.”

“There’s that hot cheerleader fantasy again.”

“Come on … it’s a long time since I was a cheerleader.”

“It’s always you in the cheerleader fantasy though, Sawyer … and that little stunt you and Brooke pulled a couple weeks after we got back from the road trip just fueled the fire. And now you’re blushing.  Even better.  I really love that I can do that to you.”

“Stop it! You said two things,” she prompts to turn the conversation.  “Two things to focus on?”

“Basketball and … family, I guess?”

“But Lucas i _s_ your family.”

“I mean the family I _choose_ , not the family I have because my father couldn’t keep it in his … Anyway, the best kind of family, the kind you choose ‘cos you want it. My people. You. Brooke. She was right about that.”

“I _kinda_ like that,” she says softly, her eyelashes sweeping her cheek, a little smile playing on her lips.

“Yeah?  Good … ‘cos I think we need to talk about something _kinda_ related.”

“Nathan?  You look …” she tails off, a little cautious about her choice of words.

“What?”

“Nervous?  Not like you anyway.  What’s up? I thought we’d got to the we can talk about anything point?”

“Maybe.  Are we okay with the talking about anything if it’s a ‘what the hell are we doing’ conversation?”

“As in … you want to stop?” she asks, avoiding his gaze.

“No!  Hell no!” he insists, his fingertips reaching to brush her cheek in emphasis. “As in … I think we’re kidding ourselves that this is just …”

“Friends who sleep together? But that’s what we said …”

“We also said this was a onetime thing. Then we said just for the road trip. Then we said until we feel like stopping … Peyton …”

“No. We said for as long as we want to _or until other stuff gets in the way_. Well … this is the other stuff ... you in Charlotte most of the time, being a big hotshot pro ball player. I’ll come to home games to use that family seat when I can and I’ll watch your other games on TV or on line. I’ll still be your cheerleader.”

“From here,” he states a little dully.

“Well … yeah.”

“What if I call another revision to Road Trip Rules?” he asks, watching her carefully for her reaction. She doesn’t _seem_ to be freaked out, but then maybe she’s not all that sure what he’s heading towards.

“You know what I like best about the point we’ve got to Nathan?  No bullshit, no beating around the bush.  I’m so _over_ having to read between the lines, and guessing games and all the uncertainty that came with … well you know … so this may not be fair, but I need you to be really freaking clear about what you’re saying here.”

“Alright already! Geeze Sawyer, give me a second. Shit, you’re the only one that …”

He stops, gathers his thoughts for a moment, while holding a hand out towards her in a gesture that asks her to give him a minute. Eventually he takes a deep breath then launces in.

“Look, I think the last couple of months have been incredible, alright?  And I think we’ve really got something. I think maybe we always did and just … so much shit got in the way that we couldn’t control and couldn’t handle. I think maybe everything we’ve been through separately and together was to get us to here. And I think here is _not_ just friends who sleep together, not anymore.  I want you. All of you. I want us to be together. A couple together. Together because we want to be, not just because it’s convenient or we don’t have the time or energy to find something else. I want to be together and have everyone know it.”

“Nate,” she starts softly. “I think … I don’t … I’m not ready …”

He’s on his feet, standing at the side of the bed, arms outstretched in a plea. “Shit Peyton!  Come on, you can’t keep your head in the sand on this. I know you feel it too.  It’s not just great fucking … it’s fucking great!”

“Nathan!” she exclaims at him.

“I’m sorry! But it’s …”

“Stop!” she says very firmly. “Will you let me finish what I was going to say!?”

He gestures impatiently for her to continue.

“I’m just not ready to go public,” she says softly, calmly.

“Really not ready? Or are you just treading water with me until he comes back? Because he will come back.”

“He who? Lucas?” she’s aghast. “Jesus, Nathan, have you not heard me? I don’t want him.”

“Not now. But in a month? 6 months? A year?”

“Not then. Not ever.”

“Then why the hell do you have such a problem with admitting this is really good and we’ve got something and ...” 

She walks across the bed on her knees and stops right in front of him.

“Nathan, will you shut the hell up?”

She waits a second then continues. “If you’d just let me finish what I was saying …”

He gestures for her to continue again.

“I’m not ready _to go public,”_ she repeats. “But just that part of it because I realised something tonight, with all that ruckus at Tric …”

“Ruckus?”

“Yes, ruckus! Brooke, Lindsey, Lucas all going for it. Then I felt you come up behind me and I leant back into your hand a little and the ruckus ... just went away. None of it meant anything. There was just you, having my back. Not ‘saving me’,” she places air commas around those infamous words, “but letting me handle it, letting me go when I wanted to go, but having my back. And what I realised was that where I wanted to _go_ … was home … to you.”

“To me?”

“To you. You’re … you’re _home_ to me.”

He runs his finger over her wrist. “Just … what do you want?” he asks. “Do you want to move this on a level?”

“To … being an actual couple together?” she asks, using the same words he had.

“I’m … having a blast with you,” he says, watching for her reaction. “And I like the weeks when we actually have time together, not just ... you know ... sneaky hook ups. The time’s … nice. And as much as the sneaking around has had its moments … some seriously fucking good moments … it’d be cool if we could do that whenever we want, not just when Brooke’s away.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, sounding a little surprised at the realisation. “You’re right. It’s … we’ve kind of slipped into this really nice … What do you think? Do you think we can …?”

“Absolutely. But why wait to go public? I just … to me, this feels like you’re leaving the door open for the other Scott boy to come back.”

“No.  It’s because you’re not ready.”

“Me? _I’m_ the one pushing for this!” he declares strongly.

“But you don’t believe I won’t go back to him, Nate. _I’ve_ known that since the wedding.  I _know_ it. There is no going back for me. But _you_ don’t believe it. You don’t _know_ it.”

“So, we go public, and time proves you right,” he says persuasively. “We ... this … the last couple of months. Hell, the last year, really. You’ve leant on me. I’ve leant on you. We have held each other up and just … held each other. Like I’ve said before, we run together and we _run_ together. We fit, Sawyer.  I think _everyone_ should know we fit. I don’t want any more nights where I hear my frigging sister in law telling the whole crowd at Tric that you’re in love with her husband.”

“Look, I don’t give a damn what your sister in law says! She’s _wrong!_ I …”

She sits down on the bed and takes his hands in hers, her big green eyes looking up at him.

“Nathan, I think we have a real shot here; _you_ and _me_.  I’ve been sitting here tonight thinking about the big … blocks. You’re about to be away in Charlotte … a _lot_.  And I believe we can deal with that.  You’re gonna have this big celebrity lifestyle with all that involves.  And I believe we can deal with that.  And I believe that even if we crash and burn romantically, our friendship will survive. And that’s huge. That’s really big for me because you are the most important person I have.”

“What? More important than B. Davis?” he chips in with a cheeky look at her. Her answer surprises him.

“Yeah,” she says sincerely. “More important than B. Davis and, so help me God, if you ever tell her I said that, I’ll … well, I don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be pretty! But Nate, the thing is for me to believe all that? I had to take a pretty big leap of faith.”

“About?”

“I guess about the way we were when we were kids.”

“Peyton ... c’mon … that’s a long time ago. You know how bad I feel about that. And you know I’m not that guy anymore.”

“I know you weren’t that guy with Haley.  And I’m not trying to beat you up with it. I just … maybe there was something about the way _I_ was _with_ you that made you that guy with me. But the point is, I had to leap. To get to ‘I believe we have a real shot’, I had to take a leap.  And I’ve taken it. I think, when it’s a big, important thing, at some point you have to take that leap. Like you getting back to basketball; you took a leap of faith so that you could take the risk and put it all on the line, yeah?”

He nods. He gets _that_. He’s still not sure what she means about them.

“You know as well as I do that the only thing that has ever nearly blown apart B. Davis and P. Sawyer was L. Scott. And here we are; _N._ Scott is more important to me than B. Davis. I will never let L. Scott blow us, N. Scott and P. Sawyer, apart the way he nearly did Brooke and me.  But we’ve got a really … invested group of friends, and this is a small town with a mad gossip mill. And before we let those friends and this town in on _us_ , I need you to take that leap of faith and believe that I am _in this_ , that I’m not going back.”

“And that’s the _only_ thing stopping you from shouting it from the rooftops?” he asks, eyes almost pleading.

“That’s the only thing. We already know we can be together virtually all the time and not drive each other crazy. And I really believe our friendship is too strong not to survive … if there is a …” she trails off, not really even wanting to say the words again.

“… a crash and burn?” he completes for her.

“Yeah … but that’s what I’m trying to avoid here.”

“So, at some point …”

“You’ll take that leap of faith. You’ll know …”

“Alright.  I get it … I think.  But it’s really just the going public that we’re holding back on?”

She nods, then places her hands either side of his face.

“You’re right. This … us … it’s great.  It’s _really_ great Nate.  And I … _you’re_ right.  You’re just _right_.  I want it too.  I don’t want anyone else.  No one else gets it, gets me.  It’s straight forward and open and unpretentious and …”

“… totally hot,” he adds with a goofy grin.

“And totally hot,” she agrees, nodding a little and letting his goofy grin set off one of her own.

“So, to be clear; we’re together.”

“We’re together,” she confirms.

“No one else.”

“No one else. Though I thought we’d already agreed on that bit. This isn’t just ‘taking good care of each other’ anymore, is it? This is a relationship.”

“This is a relationship,” he confirms. “Though you know we’re pretty good at the _taking care of each other_.”

“Oh, we’re _really_ good at that. C’mere N. Scott,” she says clutching his shirt front and tipping herself backwards, pulling him down with her. “Let me take really, _really_ good care of you …”

 

Later, they’re lying together, her leg hooked over his in the way he loves.

“Do you have to go back to Brooke’s?” he asks reluctantly.

“Nope. I left my bedroom door closed with a ‘Sleeping late, leave me alone’ note on it when I left this morning. Tiny risk that she might have popped home at lunchtime and seen it, but I figured that was pretty unlikely. _Now_ she’ll interpret it as a reaction to the Tric thing; she won’t try and barge on in.”

“Good. I’d miss you if you left.”

“Cheesy! Though … I am going to miss this,” she murmurs into his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Soon you’ll be in Charlotte … what … half the time or more? I will miss this.”

“Which bits?” he asks after a beat.

“I’m sorry?”

“You said you’ll miss this. Which bits will you miss?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, come on Sawyer.”

“Geeze … feed your ego much?”

He pulls back and looks at her, puzzled.

“Okay … well I’ll miss this bit,” she says running her fingertip over his hip, “and I’ll miss this bit,” running her palm over his pecs, “and I’ll miss these bits,” feathering her fingers over his biceps, “and I’ll really, really miss those baby blues of yours.” She plants kisses on his eyelids, at which he chuckles deeply.

“Hey … what’s with laughing at me?”

“Peyton … as much as I’m loving this cataloguing of my admittedly seriously hot body parts …”

“Well yeah, I am a ‘librarian’ after all,” she retorts, “cataloguing is my thing.”

“A _hot_ librarian,” he corrects her. “And you’ve been doing a great job of cataloguing my hot body parts … though I do make it easy, what with having so many ...”

“So, you were telling me why you’re laughing at me?” she cuts in, poking him with her fingertip.

“I didn’t mean which of _my_ bits you’d miss, though obviously, you’d miss this work of art. I meant… which bits of what we’ve been doing for the last few months … other than the seriously good meshing of hot body parts …”

“Nathan, I …”

“Peyton, do you trust me?”

“With my life, Nate. More than anyone else on this earth.”

“Then please, just … tell me.”

“Well, you really did have my back tonight, you and that touchy feely right hand of yours.”

“What, the one that did this,” running his hand up her side, “up and down your back ... in a _public place_ no less!”

“Yeah, that one.”

“The one that is right on your most ticklish spot and will break loose if you don’t answer me right now? A _serious_ answer.”

“Hmm.  Well, you’re right.  I will miss that _meshing_ … but it’s this … the laying and talking. We never did this all those years ago and this is when the great guy you’ve become is really there, really open.”

She pauses, then looks awfully concerned as a realisation strikes. “But oh, my god ... the _running_? Who am I gonna run with?”

“Well, there’s no one else here that can keep up with you over distance Sawyer, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah …”

“So,” he continues, “I did some thinking on my walk home.”

“Did it hurt? The thinking?”

“Ha-ha. Funny, Sawyer, very funny.”

“I thought so.  Wait … did you say you _walked_ home? I said I’d come get you if you needed a sober driver.”

“I needed the time. I um… I ran into Whitey at the cemetery.”

“Coach Durham? How is he?”

“I had a really good talk to him. He opened my eyes. Like he always used to.”

“Wait.  If you already got home way earlier than I expected, and you walked, and you had a long chat to Coach Durham, you must’ve left Tric …”

“Within a few minutes of you.”

“Nate, you didn’t have to miss pretty much the whole night. You were really gonna tie one on … last chance before the season kicks off …”

“Yeah well … like I said … my weakass brother put paid to that.”

“Nathan?”

“No, Peyton. For now, I’m done with him and I told him so, too. So, did Brooke, by the way. I won’t be part of him behaving like this anymore. It’s not right, not after everything you’ve done for him over the years. But anyway … what I was going to say is … _don’t_ miss it … this. You have new bands you’re looking at, but there’s no reason why they have to come here. You come to Charlotte to sign them, and you hire studio time in Charlotte for them instead of bringing them here to record. You keep Keller on at the Tree Hill studio.”

“So, I’m what? Your touring basketball groupie? The Bobcats have their own cheerleaders for that!” she teases.

“I don’t want the freaking Bobcats cheerleaders. I want _my_ cheerleader … slash librarian,” he smirks a little at that, “and no you wouldn’t be my touring groupie. I’ll come back whenever I get more than a couple days in a row off. You’ll come to Charlotte, when you can. When you’re in Charlotte, you’ll stay with me. You’ll have a family seat so you can see the games courtside not online. And maybe you can get to some away games too, you know … to check out more bands? And by the way, when we do have to have a few days apart …”

“I see where this is going, 23; hot reunion sex?”

“Never know your luck in the big city … or the small city. But,” he sighs, trying just once more, “you’re sure about not public?”

“Public sex? Probably not a good idea when you’re a big pro ball playing super star. You know with the paparazzi following you around and all.”

“I meant _going_ public and you know it. If we’re both backwards and forwards between here and Charlotte, it’ll be a bit suspicious.”

“I just need a bit longer on that, Nathan. I can swing the going to Charlotte thing. And you know, when we _do_ tell people … we need to be prepared for the fact that there’ll be fall out.”

“What? Brooke will be over the moon. She’ll just be pissed she didn’t work it out. Luke? He doesn’t  deserve any consideration from us.”

“But maybe _we_ deserve a little consideration from us? So, it’s only a three or four-hour drive but it’ll still be hard and it’s kind of a big deal moving us into full … relationship status. Dealing with all the crap, as well? Can we just be together … be us ... before we let everyone else in on it?”

“But we will let them in on it soon?”

“Yeah. Just … you make that leap of faith and we’ll be all out there. Besides … isn’t it kinda hot to just be my dirty little secret for a bit longer?”

“Dirty? Sure. Little? Sawyer, c’mon woman … you have _not_ been paying attention.”

She giggles and cuddles in.

“Oh no,” he says, pushing her on to her back and trailing fiery kisses down her body, “you are not cuddling just yet.”

“I’m not?” she asks, more than a little breathlessly.

“Nope.”

“What am I doing then?”  
“You’re lying there and looking gorgeous while I do some of those dirty things to you.”

“Oh really? How dirty?”

“So dirty you’re gonna need to shower afterwards.”

“With you, I’m guessing?”

“Yup. Now hush, and let me do my work.”

 

He goes to see his brother the next morning. He doesn’t really want to. Hell, he doesn’t want to at all. But Peyton insists. Her and those big green eyes of hers. Tells him, again, that they’re brothers, that family is family.  When he still isn’t convinced, she plays the _for the sake of the Ravens and Whitey’s legacy_ card. He rolls his eyes at her and mumbles that she doesn’t play fair. She just laughs and tells him she knows, but he has the brawn, so she has to have the brains and know how to persuade him.

So, he goes to Lucas’ and tells him that maybe they could work something out and still cooperate with the Ravens. If he’d expected Lucas to be thankful, he shouldn’t have. His brother looks at him, gloating silently, his arms folded across his chest.

“What?” Nathan eventually asks.

“Fine,” Lucas says smugly. “I won’t ask you to admit you were wrong and I was right.”

“About what?”  
“That ridiculous little to-do last night.”  
“To-do?” Nathan exclaims. “That wasn’t a _to-do_ , Luke; it was freaking disgrace.”

“I did what I had to do.” Lucas says with a shrug.

“What you had to do? You did _nothing_! You resolved _nothing_! You let Lindsey insult Peyton, walk all over you and you stood back and did _nothing_! You were prepared to let your closest friends and your brother walk out of your life.”

“And yet here you are, little brother.”

“Yeah. And you know why?”  
“Because you know I did what I …”  
“No. Because despite every bullshit thing you’ve done to her, Sawyer told me not to walk away from you. She asked me to try and patch this up.”

“She’s smart. She gets it,” Lucas shrugs again.

“She _is_ smart. She _does_ get it. She gets that you’re an ass and she knows you’re not worth her time, worry or attention anymore.”

Nathan shakes his head and starts towards the door, then pauses.  “And you’re not worth mine, either,” he adds.  
“So much for patching it up,” Lucas smirks.

“I’ll help you coach the Ravens. For the kids, for Skills and for Whitey. I’ll be civil in public as long as you behave yourself. But I’m giving you fair warning; Lindsey shoots her mouth off like that again? You’ll need to put yourself between your wife and me, ‘cos I’m not above bitch slapping her to make her shut the hell up.”

The door bangs behind him and Lucas is left alone. There’s really only one phrase that sticks with him as the silence settles.  _She knows you’re not worth her time, worry or attention anymore._

When Nathan tells Peyton that he tried, but, other than helping out with the Ravens for the sake of the kids, and being civil when he needs to be, he’s done with a capital D, she doesn’t fight him anymore. But she looks disappointed. In him. Which burns. He knows he’s supposed to be demonstrating some stupid leap of faith as far as Lucas goes, but hell, he can’t stomach it anymore. He can’t stand back and watch the dismissive way his brother regards his girl. _His_ girl. _Nathan_ Scott’s girl. He’ll just have to find another way of leaping.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The label is cranking up and Peyton has multiple potential acts on the cusp of signing. Brooke persuades her she needs a good night out - not that she takes much persuasion at all - when who should turn up in Tree Hill but one Julian Baker?

**September**

Saturday. Weekend. And she’s at the studio again. But excited to be there. She’s got two very strong acts, a band and a singer songwriter, on the hook. And she’s got the feeling that today might just be the day. There’s just _something_ in the air. She can feel it. It’s right _there_ , and she’s reaching for it with a buzz and an energy that surprises even her. And it really hits home that she is _loving_ her life. _All_ parts of her life.

She wants everything completely up to date so that if - _when_ she says, not if - _when_ they sign, she can devote big blocks of time to them and get them off on the right foot. By midafternoon, she’s happy - _really_ happy - with where everything’s at. When her phone goes, and she sees it’s Brooke, she answers with a greeting so cheerful that it has Brooke laughing in response.

“P. Sawyer, what are you so chirpy about when you’ve spent all of Saturday at work? Have you got a boy toy stashed away in the storage cupboard? It’s not Keller, is it? Oh God, please tell me it’s not Keller.”

“Brooke! No boy toy, Keller or otherwise, in the cupboard. I’ve just got _so much_ done today,” she enthuses. “I’m totally up to date and I feel great about it.”

“So,” the brunette starts with her _Brooke-has-such-a-great-idea_ voice, “if you’re all up to date, then you have no excuses.”

“Oh boy. Why do I feel like I just make a big mistake telling you that?”

“Don’t say that, bestie. No set ups with road trip EPO boys, I promise. Just ... I _miss_ you, P.!” Brooke whines in her raspy way.  “We haven’t had a good girly chat in ages. And I really want a night out. I was hoping I could twist your arm to go with me. Maybe try that new Tex-Mex-slash-Spanish-slash-whatever-it-is place down on the pier that everyone’s talking about? Take a cab so we can demolish a few jugs of margaritas?”

Brooke waits hopefully, not at all sure that Peyton will go for it.

“Actually, you know what?” Peyton says after a few seconds, “I miss my buddy, too. Let’s do it!”

“Really? Oh goodie! If I wasn’t holding my phone, I’d be clapping. See you at home soon?”

“Yeah. Be there in an hour or so.”

She’s locking up and heading out when she gets a text from the other important brunette in her life. The _most_ important brunette in her life.

_Hey Sawyer. What’s LA Julian’s last name?_

_Baker. Why?_

_Ha! He just turned up with a movie offer on_ Ravens. _Luke groveled 2 me 2 go with him 2 meet the guy._

_My Julian hated that book. U know that. Must be someone else._

_More than 1 Julian Baker from LA that produces movies?_

_Hmm. True. U going? Thought you were ‘done with a capital D’ when it comes to Lucas?_

_Yup. But could b fun knowing what I know about U & Julian when Luke doesn’t have a clue._

_Don’t b mean!_

_I’ll b good with him if I can b bad with U later._

_Have 2B much later & depends if can get away from B without suspicion. Girls’ night out @ new Tex Mex place on pier._

_Xlnt. UR even more fun after tequila._

_Shut up! Have 2 go._

 

While she and Brooke are getting ready, running between each other’s bathrooms checking each other’s looks and ensembles like they did when they were teenagers, and with loud music blasting, Peyton gets a text in from the manager of the band she’s been working on signing. He tells her they’re close; they might have just a couple last little queries later in the evening. Is she going to be reachable? She replies that she will be, that she’ll be out but that she’ll have her ringer on loud, and to phone anytime.

By the time she and Brooke jump in the cab, she’s really looking forward to that first margarita and thinking that, having missed lunch because she was just too absorbed in what she was doing, a massive bowl of corn chips and guacamole would go down a treat. When they arrive at the restaurant and bar, it’s busy, but not packed yet, and the bar service is prompt. She’s got the jug and the corn chips; Brooke’s got the glasses and the guacamole and has spotted a table which they start to head towards when a voice to their left stops them.

“What are two dodgy girls like you doing in a nice place like this?”

“Hotshot!” Brooke’s excited to see him. Peyton on the other hand raises her eyebrow suspiciously in a ‘why are you _here_?’ question.

“Girls’ night out, ladies?” he asks, playing dumb.

“Yup! Why are you here, Scott? Girls’ night for you too?” Brooke asks cheerily.

“Meeting this movie producer dude with Luke; Julian. This is just where we wound up,” he shrugs.

Peyton surreptitiously pokes him in the side, but he smiles a little apologetically and she can tell right away that it really wasn’t his doing.

“Movie producer? How come?” Brooke asks curiously.

“Wants to make Luke’s book into a movie.”

“Ooh, how exciting!” Brooke squeals. “I wonder who’ll play me?”

Nathan looks between them. “You want to join us? The business talk’s done. We’re just having a couple of beers before we go.”

“I’m still not talking to your stupid brother, Nathan,” Brooke reminds him with a torn look. She’d _love_ to talk about a movie project with a real live Hollywood producer, but she’s still mad at stupid Broody.  
“I’m not really talking to him much either, so you can talk to me and the movie dude, Davis,” Nathan suggests.

Brooke looks at Peyton, not being at all sure how her friend will feel about sitting at a table with Lucas.  She knows Peyton keeps saying she really doesn’t give two hoots one way or the other, but when it comes the crunch ...

“P.?”

“Brooke, this is supposed to be a girls’ night. _You_ wanted it, remember?”

“Yeah … but a movie producer? We could have our first jug with them, then party on when they leave. Nathan said they’re just having a couple before they go. Please, P. Sawyer? Please, please, pretty please?”

Peyton rolls her eyes and concedes with a sigh. Nathan points Brooke in the right direction, ushers Peyton in front of him and, with his hand just brushing her hip, murmurs near her ear. “Not my doing. Promise. So, I take it _Brooke_ doesn’t know about Julian either?”

“Tell me the story later. And no, she doesn’t.”

He chuckles. “This is going to be fun.”

“Nathan,” she warns, “stop it.”

Brooke looks back. “What are you two up to?” she asks suspiciously.

“Just teasing her about how she gets on tequila,” he covers smoothly.

She hits his arm, frowning, and he throws his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in in a friendly, joking way and places a quick kiss on her temple, as he often does with both these girls. Brooke laughs and turns back to keep walking, so he takes the opportunity, hidden from the table by the crowd, to part his lips just a little and extend that kiss on the temple for just a second in a way that is not at all friend-like. Her skin is attuned to him and his lips, pressed just a little more, and the tip of his tongue flicking, even momentarily, is enough to make her knees weaken.

“Stop it!” she admonishes. Brooke looks back again and he throws his hands up in a ‘who me?’ gesture, then takes the lead as they near the large booth, where Luke and Julian are seated and chatting.

“Look who I found at the bar,” Nathan says as he approaches the table. His brother looks up at the three of them, eyes flitting from Brooke to Peyton, clearly a little nervous. And with good cause. It’s two weeks since the blow out at Tric, and he hasn’t spoken with Peyton or Brooke since. Julian’s back is to them, but he turns in his seat and that wide, boyish grin of his, that Peyton knows so well, splits his face. He stands and moves out of the booth, ready for introductions.

Nathan looks at Lucas, expecting him to take the lead, but his brother seems both tongue-tied and paralyzed, so Nathan steps in.

“Brooke, this is Julian Baker. He’s here in town talking to Lucas about maybe making _Ravens_ into a movie. Julian, the lovely Brooke Davis.”

Brooke places the drinks glasses on the table and extends her hand to Julian.

“Well, hello, cutie,” she says in her trademark winning way. He takes her hand, grinning, ducking his head modestly.

“Brooke Davis,” he intones in his warm voice, with what sounds like just the slightest lisp. “You are _just_ as I imagined. Maybe even more so.”

“I assume that’s a good thing,” she flirts.

“Oh, it’s an _excellent_ thing,” he assures her with a wide, boyish grin.

“Well ... shall I slide in here on this side of the booth so you can come sit next to me?”

“Why not,” Julian answers smoothly, stepping back a little and ushering Brooke into the booth.

Brooke slips along the bench seat and reaches for the margarita jug from Peyton, who passes it over. Julian turns to Peyton, who is now standing arms on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently, with eyebrows raised and a very cheeky, flirty smile on her face.

Nathan’s watching his already confused-looking brother. The Peyton Sawyer Lucas knows does not do cheeky, flirty smiles … not like that, anyway, and certainly not with men she’s just met, or, moreover, is about to meet.

“Well, well,” she says, “Julian Norris.”

“Well, well,” he echoes, “Peyton Elizabeth.”

His grin grows even bigger, and her flirty smile has morphed into a matching cheek-splitting grin. He opens his arms and she literally jumps into them, throwing her arms around his neck, while he swings her around in a circle.

“You suck!” she exclaims when he lowers her feet back to the floor, “why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Tree Hill?”

“Surprise!? And baby,” he says, lowering his voice just a little but only to a ‘you are all totally meant to hear this’ level, and raising his eyebrow at her, “you used to love it when I sucked.”

She slaps his arm. “Why you dirty boy!” she mock gasps with a played up Southern belle accent.

“Well yeah, but then you loved that too!”

Brooke and Lucas exchange ‘what the hell is going on?’ looks, then Brooke remembers she is still totally pissed at Lucas so looks to Nathan, who laughs, shrugs in a ‘what are you gonna do?’ kind of way and takes a seat next to his brother.

Julian holds Peyton at arm’s length and admires her, shaking his head in appreciation.

“You look as amazing as ever,” he says with a wink. “God, it’s _really_ good to see you.”

“You too, Baker boy,” she sing-songs in return. “But I _really_ wish you’d told me you were coming. You could have stayed with Brooke and me. In fact, you …”

“Nah,” he cuts in, “hotel’s best when I have calls coming in at crazy times of the day and night.  But thank you; that is a very sweet offer.”

He takes a seat and pulls Peyton into the booth after him, then leans back with both arms along the seat, as if hugging both of the beautiful girls at his side.

“Actually,” Peyton says, addressing the wider group, “speaking of calls. I wouldn’t usually do this, and I know it’s rude, but I’ve maybe, fingers crossed, got a couple of super important calls coming in tonight from potential acts. They’re so close to signing, and I’m going to have to leave my ringer on loud and my phone out. I’m sorry guys, but these are potentially _really_ big for the label. And if the calls come in in the right order, I might just get them both.”

They assure her it’s fine, and Nathan shoots her a quick, proud look.

“So,” says Lucas, finally speaking after this long time, and gesturing between Julian and Peyton “you two know each other?” He’s definitely directing his question more towards Julian because he’s really not sure if she’ll even speak directly to him. He thinks he couldn’t really blame her if she didn’t.

“No, Lucas,” she laughs easily, “I greet total strangers like that every day!”

“We were close in LA,” interjects Julian, with wording that Peyton, knowing _him_ and knowing the history, inherently understands is specifically designed to be ambiguous.

“Close … friends?” Lucas’ tone is casual enough, and Julian, having just met him, might not spot it, but the other three know the blond well, and they all recognize the undertone that is both suspicion and jealousy.

Nathan knocks his shoulder into his brother, enjoying this moment enormously. “Peyton and Julian dated in LA. Lived together too. You knew that, surely?”

And _that_ was carefully designed to show Lucas that he really is out of touch with her, that he doesn’t know her any more, that there’s a big gap between what Luke perceives his relationship with Peyton Sawyer to be and what it really is.

“Um, no. Or I guess maybe I forgot?” he says, with a lost look.

“You didn’t forget,” Peyton comments smoothly. Brooke leans around in front of Julian and eyeballs Peyton.

“And neither did I! P. Sawyer, you kept a delicious boy hidden from me for _how_ long, exactly?”

“Um. A while, I guess.”

“Peyton Elizabeth! How long?”

“A year,” she replies sheepishly, “and … a half.”

“That’s what?” Brooke asks to clarify. “How long it’s been since you were together?”

“Umm. About that. A little longer. Plus … it’s also about how long we _were_ together.”

“You had a year and half long relationship with a cute boy and you what? _Forgot_ to tell your best friend? We’ll be having words about this, P. Secret-Keeper!”

Julian looks between them, not sure if this is an actual fight or not. Peyton pats his arm reassuringly.

“Don’t sweat it, Julian. She won’t be mad for long. She’ll just want as many of the dirty details as possible, then she’ll be fine.”

“Oh well, there’s plenty of _them,_ so I guess you two will be just dandy,” he laughs.

He turns to Brooke with a charming Julian Baker grin.

“To be fair, Miss Davis, the way La Sawyer and I worked was … unusual. We sort of fell into it and there wasn’t a defined start, or a defined anything really,” he looks at Peyton pointedly, “including an end, so …”

“ _La Sawyer_?” Brooke ask, interrupting.  
Peyton hits Julian’s arm. “Don’t you dare!” she warns with an admonishing finger raised.

“It’s a French thing,” Julian says casually.

“Well, _hello_ ,” answers Brooke, “or maybe that’s ‘ _allo_ … I _know_ it’s a French thing, but why? She doesn’t speak a word of French other than _champagne, baguette, croissant_ … and maybe _boudoir_ ,” she adds, batting her eyelashes a little.

“Yeah,” says Julian with a cheeky grin, “it’s more of a French … _attire_ thing.”

Peyton hits his arm again, and looks up to find Nathan smirking at her knowingly. She gives him a well-aimed kick under the table and then breathes a sign of relief as her phone goes. She grabs it and stands.

“Cross your fingers for me, guys,” she instructs as she turns on her heel and heads to an empty booth at the rear of the big space, her drink in her left hand and answering the phone as she walks.

The chat amongst the remaining four turns to the movie project, and with Peyton away from the table, Lucas relaxes and becomes a little chattier, which doesn’t go unnoticed by both his brother and Brooke. In fact, it’s really quite clear to Julian too.

Fifteen minutes later, and Peyton slips back into the booth with an empty glass, and pours herself a fresh drink from the margarita jug. They all look at her expectantly. She plays it cool, taking a sip of her drink, sitting back and eyeing the group.

“So, what are we talking about?” she asks, with an innocent smile.

Brooke reacts immediately. “Peyton! Enough secrets, thank you. How’d it go?”

“I got them!” Peyton exclaims. “That’s the band. One down and one to go; which is the singer songwriter. And I think he needed to see that I can inspire confidence in acts with a growing name, so I’ve texted his manager that I’ve just signed the band. That might give him the push he needs.” There’s a round of congratulations, and a quick under the table touch on her knee from Nathan. She meets his gaze briefly and sees that he really wants to congratulate her more … fully. She flashes him a quick smile and turns her attention back to the conversation, which has moved back to the movie.

After a while, Nathan suggests he gets another round at the bar, and asks Peyton to give him a hand, seeing as though she’s also on the outside of the booth.

While they wait at the bar, he shakes his head at her, grinning.

“What?” she asks.

“ _La_ Sawyer?”

She grins. “Well, you know ...”

“Oh, I certainly do,” he smirks. “I should thank that guy for introducing you … well, and me really … to the joys of French knickers.”  
“You most certainly should _not_! It’s bad enough that you lorded it over Lucas about knowing about Julian. No need to lord it over Julian that you’re …”

“That I’m?”

“You _know_!”

“Maybe _he_ needs to know too?” Nathan suggests. “He seemed to be suggesting that you two hadn’t actually officially ended.”

“I guess it was a bit grey at the time … maybe. But no contact in all the time I’ve been back here, well a couple of emails, but nothing else. That’s pretty clear.”

“So, I don’t have anything to worry about?”

“Nate?”

“Answer mon question, _La_ Sawyer.”

“I’m not sure what your question _is._ We agreed no one else. We’ve decided this isn’t just a fling. I won’t ... I’m not interested in him like that anymore.”

“Look, I know we - you and me - we’re ahead of everyone else on this but I just … he said you two fell into it and had no defined start point. That sounds kind of familiar. I … are we heading for an undefined end point too? What do you want?”

“What are _you_ saying, Nate?” she counters, looking a bit puzzled. “What do _you_ want? What was it you said last time we had this sort of conversation? Which was only two weeks ago, I might add. You want to ‘move it on a level’?”

“Well … maybe.”

“Nate. We’re together, even if we’re the only ones that know it. The next level is … is living together. I mean ... are you … are we … is _that_ what you’re saying?”

“Look. I’m gonna run with what worked for me last time we had this conversation, and yes, I know that was only a couple of weeks ago. But … again … there’s no pressure. I … like waking up next to you and it sucks when I wake up and you’re not there. Living together? Honestly? I kind of think we already are, Sawyer. It’s just that we only do it when Brooke’s away. But that’s nearly 50% of the time. So, we know it works. Maybe we should do it regardless of whether Davis is in town. Speaking of whom, she’s heading this way, probably wondering where the hell her next pitcher of margaritas got to. Have a think, Peyt. Let me know when you’re ready.”

In his head, in his heart, he knows _he_ means when she’s ready to say yes. He wants _her_ to read that as when she’s ready to talk about it because she’ll probably be okay, comfortable, with that; enthusiasm without pressure. He doesn’t want her to freak out. He’s hoping, actually he’s pretty sure, that he’s pushed just hard enough.

They grab the drinks and head towards Brooke, who was, indeed, coming to chase up her next margarita.

“Sorry, Davis,” Nathan says coolly, “got distracted talking about all these big shot deals that are floating around right now. Didn’t mean to deny you your fix.”

As they’re approaching the table, Peyton’s phone goes again. She pulls it from her back pocket and looks at it, a wide smile starting immediately. She mouths sorry to the table, presses the green button and turns to walk. They all hear her greeting.

“Jake! Hey! How are you?”

It’s a much quicker call; she’s back in just a few minutes.

“Jake? Jake Jagielski? _He’s_ the singer songwriter?” asks Lucas of her immediately, something that looks a lot like panic on his face.

“No. Well, yes Jake as in _that_ Jake. No, he’s not _the_ singer songwriter I’m waiting to hear from,” she replies. He relaxes. But then she speaks again. “But he did just say he wants to sign with me.” And Lucas Scott’s heart freezes.

“Peyton, that’s _amazing_!” Brooke chips in excitedly. “So that’s maybe … _three_ new signings … if the other one comes through too? Three in one day?”

“Um. Yeah,” Peyton says, looking a little shell-shocked. “Could be. Or, far out … maybe even four, ‘cos I hate to admit it, but Keller’s material is damned good. Thing is, Jake’s working two part-time jobs, and there’s Jenny and … he’s just found out his folks can take Jenny for a couple of weeks starting tomorrow and that’ll be the only time he can record for … well, maybe for months. So, if I want him, I’m gonna have to make that work.”

“But you want him, right?” Nathan asks keenly. “He’s good. Or …” he thinks fast, realizing Brooke could pick up that he was there when Peyton met up with Jake again. “He was … you know ... back in high school.”  
“P. you saw him on your road trip, yeah?” asks Brooke, causing Lucas’ chin to lift sharply. _What the hell?_

When Peyton confirms with a nod, Brooke presses on. “And is he good? Is he still good?”

“He’s _better_ than good,” Peyton tells Brooke. “His latest songs are just … really special. And his voice has developed so much. He’s amazing on stage; really genuine and warm and … the real-deal, you know? I ... I think he could be huge.” She gives Julian a nudge. “Tree Hill High alumni, Julian. Be great for your movie’s soundtrack.”

Julian laughs at her. “Always after the main chance, you are!”

“I just look after my guys,” she shrugs, with a chuckle and a wink.

Brooke looks at her with a raised eyebrow. “So, Jake’s your _guy_ now, huh P.? Is that why you weren’t so fussed about seeing Wilmington Boy again? Romantically, I mean.”

Lucas looks from Brooke to Peyton and back, blanching. _Who the hell is Wilmington Boy?_

“Jake is my _artist_ , Brooke. My artist.”

“Your _very_ cute and sexy artist who had _very_ pretty eyes and, from memory, also had _great_ abs and who, and I quote _you_ P. Sawyer, _totally and utterly rocked your world_ the afternoon of the Keith and Jules wedding that wasn’t. In fact, I believe your fluttery eyes said he was the best you’d ever …”

 _“Brooke!”_ Peyton exclaims to stop her. “Anyway, I am sorry to cut this short, guys, but if I’m going to be ready to start recording with Jake tomorrow and get two lots, maybe three or four lots, of contracts sorted, I have an awful lot to do. I’m gonna have to go. Can I leave you big strong guys to take care of the Brookie Monster for me?”

“But P.,” Brooke whines, “we’re supposed to be kicking on for girls’ night out, drinking, dancing, finding pretty boys to flirt with. Our very _long overdue_ girls’ night out, I might add.”

“I know Brooke, but here you are with three good looking men. Surely that’s compensation enough?” 

Brooke twirls her hair around a finger. “But Lucas is married and _boring_ , and Nathan’s … _Nathan_.”

“I am _not_ boring!” protests Lucas.

“Oh, but I _am_ Nathan ...” his brother replies with a flirty tone and a quirked eyebrow at Brooke.

She rolls her eyes at them both and turns to Julian, dismissing the Scott brothers out of hand with a flick of her wrist. “So, Julian Baker, let’s get a little better acquainted.”

Peyton laughs, warns Julian that he’d better bring his A game if he wants to impress Brooke Davis and waves her farewells to the group. As she’s walking away, Nathan calls out.

“Hey, Sawyer! What time in the morning? Seven or eight?”  
“Seven,” she confirms as she turns back. “My turn to pick you up?”

“Yeah. Where are we going?”  
“Um … I’ve been wanting to try that new track out on River Road,” she says after a moment’s though.

Lucas’ head pulls up sharply at that. River Road? That’s _their_ spot.

“What is it?” Nathan asks. “Ten?”

“Twelve, I think,” she answers.

“Alrighty. Done. See you at seven.”

Peyton nods and continues on her way towards the door.

Julian grins at Brooke. “I think getting better acquainted is a fine idea, Brooke. But can you give me two minutes? I’ll be right back, promise.”

He scoots out of the booth and walks quickly after Peyton, catching her near the door. Meanwhile Nathan has turned his attention back to the table, where his brother is looking at him quizzically.

“You guys are still running?” Brooke asks casually.

“Yup, almost every …”

“Running? Peyton?” Lucas interjects. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Well,” his brother answers casually, “she does. She’s pretty good.”

Lucas scoffs a little.

“Seriously, Luke,” his brother insists. “She’s fast and she’s got stamina.”

“She never ran in high school.”

“Tree Hill High never had a decent track team so that’s not surprising. And high school’s a long time ago, along with everything that came with it.”

“I just can’t see it,” Lucas shrugs.

“People grow up and move on,” Nathan says pointedly. “Besides, she’s totally built for running. I whip her on short runs but over distance? She keeps me honest. That was _miles_ she was talking about; twelve miles. And trust me, old man with a heart condition, she’d whip your ass.”

 

“Peyton. Wait up a minute,” he asks, dropping a hand lightly to her shoulder.

“Julian?” she asks as she turns back.

“I know you’ve got heaps on, but how about breakfast one day this week?”

“Um, maybe. Yeah,” she suggests as she quickly checks her phone calendar. “Thursday?”

“Done. Text me with a place?”

“Sure, but why? What’s up?”

“Just want to catch up with you. The burning question is that I want to be sure you’d really be okay if this movie deal goes ahead. So … think about it?”

She nods and smiles her thanks. He always was a thoughtful guy.

“Okay,” she nods. “And you can prepare your answer for _my_ burning question for _you_ which is how you got from ‘I hate that fucking book, it’s ruining us’ to ‘let’s make that book into a movie!’”

He looks a little shamefaced but has a retort up his sleeve.

“Sure. And then you can prepare your answer to the _other_ burning question I have for you, which is ‘I know what you look like when you’re happy and … _satisfied_ … Peyton Sawyer, and right now you are looking _seriously_ happy and _seriously_ satisfied. And what is interesting is that your _best friend_ doesn’t seem to have a clue that you have a guy. I want details.”

She knows there’s no point denying it to this man. Right from the start it was like he could read her mind. “God, you know me too well. No one else has figured it out.”

“You can tell me the details on Thursday. For now, just … is it good and is he good to you?”

She nods. “It’s _really_ good. It’s ... bordering on truly great, I think.” She’s realizing the truth of that just as she says it. “And yes, Julian, he is really good to me. In fact, maybe I’m only just realising how good.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re happy, Peyton. You deserve it. So ... Thursday?”

“Thursday. And by the way as part of me being okay with you doing the movie, I’ll be _insisting_ you use my label to release the soundtrack album!”

She kisses him on the cheek, he squeezes her hand and she’s gone.

 

When he gets back to the table, Brooke questions Julian and he simply replies that he’s catching up with Peyton later in the week for breakfast to go over some stuff, nothing major, and how would she like to hit the dance floor? Lucas looks perturbed at the news of a Peyton/Julian breakfast, but is even more perturbed by something else, something more like a known threat, and asks his brother if he knew that Peyton was back in touch with Jagielski, to which Nathan replies sure he did.

“Why didn’t you mention it?” Lucas asks with a troubled squint.  
“Jesus, Luke. We’ve kind of been over this sort of thing, haven’t we? You’re married. _Not_ to her. It’s none of your business. She doesn’t have to report her comings and goings to you. I shouldn’t have to feel duty bound to report them on her behalf. _And_ you shouldn’t be so interested in them, anyway.”

Luke lowers his voice. “Well ... do you think Julian’s here to get her back?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Well, you seem to know everything else about her,” Lucas mutters.  
“Because she’s my best friend,” Nathan fires back, “and other than Brooke, I’m hers.”

“You knew about Julian. Brooke didn’t.”

“Brooke’s been in New York a lot. I just happened to be here when Sawyer was doing that dissecting the past thing she does when the mood hits.”

Not quite true but what the hell? Lucas has spent months lying to himself, what’s a little fib from Nathan to Lucas?

Nathan’s just thinking he should go, that he’s had enough of his brother’s whining and that he kind of needs some space to sort out his own head. He knows Jake’s not an issue. He was there when they met, or re-met, and it’s purely platonic. Deep and abiding affection and respect, but nothing romantic at all. It’s kind of fun watching Lucas wriggle around uncomfortably with the thought that it’s more, though.

Julian however? Nathan’s just not sure about him. Julian’s manner with Peyton is affectionate teasing, flirty joking … but then, Nathan does that with her himself. He always has but now? He’s been sleeping with her for weeks … months, really. They’re in a really good place and, holy fuck, he’s just asked her to consider _moving in together_. He thinks he got the tone of that right; casual enough not to scare her off, but clear enough to make her feel secure. But if he got that wrong, the fact that Julian had her for eighteen months, lived with her for a year, clearly cares about her a great deal? Well, that could turn this into a mess.

He’s about to announce his departure, but then Julian and Brooke return from the dance floor to gulp down a drink, and Brooke asks her dance partner a question that Nathan is pretty keen to hear the answer to. He knows her side. He’s interested to hear the other side of that, so he doesn’t leave.

“So, Julian. You and my Peyton?” Brooke asks, with a nudge to Julian’s side. “What’s that story?”

Lucas is clearly pretending to be occupied with his phone, but his ears are pricked too.

“Short version?” laughs Julian.

“That’ll do … for now,” Brooke replies.

“Met her briefly right after some idiot broke her heart. She was in floods of tears and beating up a photocopy machine at that record company she worked for. Met her again almost exactly a year later on the sidewalk outside a bookstore. She was in floods of tears again. I wanted to stop the floods of tears more than anything, so I picked her up and dusted her off and spent the next year and half making her laugh. And I guess, in return, she was an incredible support to me with my career. Really good instincts and great, very perceptive advice. She kinda saved my ass a couple of times.”

“That sounds … kind of casual,” muses Brooke, fascinated by the set of Lucas’ jaw and the way his knuckles are turning white as his fists clench. She put together in an instant that the ‘idiot’ of Julian’s tale was Lucas. He’s clearly done the same thing. And realized that his own stupidity and some terrible timing had catapulted Peyton into what became a serious relationship with someone other than him.

“Nope,” Julian denies. “I fell hard and I fell fast and so did she.”

“Then what happened?”  
“I was monumentally stupid,” he admits with a self-deprecating shrug. “I fucked it all up. She needed a little more time to work through … a thing. And I pushed too hard and broke everything and we drifted.”

“But … you guys seemed really cool just before,” Brooke says with a puzzled frown. “No awkwardness, no drama.”

“That’s all her,” Julian admits. “She’s the coolest, most forgiving girl ever. All it took was one _‘I was a dick and I’m sorry and I miss you’_ from me and we were fine. Good friends again.”

“But not ...?”

“Nope. There was still the thing she needed to deal with. That didn’t change quickly. Though it has now by the looks of it. But … we’re good. We’ll be great.”

“And _that’s_ kind of ... grown up,” Brooke smiles

“Well. She’s Peyton Sawyer, right? You take what you can get ‘cos she’s amazing. And speaking of amazing, Brooke Davis, fancy hitting that dance floor again?”

They’re gone in a flash, leaving the Scott brothers alone again.

“He wants her back,” Lucas muses.

“Maybe,” Nathan semi agrees, “though he seems quite taken with Brooke, too.”

“And there’s Jake. Jake and Julian,” Lucas continues thoughtfully. “What’s with the J thing? And that other guy.”

“Other guy?”

“Your rehab guy. John?”

“Jono.” Nathan corrects him. “Hmm. I’d forgotten about her … thing with him.”

“It’s not ...?”

“Nah. He was … he just helped her get over something, someone she thought she was past, but wasn’t.”

Lucas looks partly guilty and partly regretful, and obviously thinks Nathan means him. For once, Nathan takes pity on his brother.

“It’s not what you think, Luke,” he says with a shake of his head. “Jono had come across that psycho Banks in the prison system.  Sawyer freaked out a bit when he mentioned his name, but it turns out the guy’s dead, and Jono just talked her through all that.”

“Oh,” Lucas says with some relief apparent. “Right. Still. Js.”

“Yeah … I’ve got another J for you,” Nathan says, slapping his hand on the table a little impatiently.  
“Jack? Julio? Joe?”  
“ _Jealous,_ ” Nathan says triumphantly. “As in you are. And you need to get over yourself. I’m getting a little sick of reminding you about this, Lucas, but _you_ are married.”

“She’s my friend,” Lucas protests weakly.

“And if you still believe that, you’re delusional as well as jealous. Luke, you’ve messed with her and your friendship too much. There’s barely anything left. Can you not _see_ that? She’s pleasant enough to you because that’s how she is and frankly? She just doesn’t care enough anymore to bother with fighting to improve the nature of your so called ‘friendship’.”  
Nathan shakes his head firmly before he continues.

“You need to face up to it all and sort your crap out. You don’t know her anymore. You didn’t know she runs. You didn’t know about Julian. You don’t know _her_ and I don’t know if that’s because of you or because of Lindsey, but it’s the truth. If you do actually want _any_ sort of friendship with Sawyer, you need to stop living in the past and get to know who she is _now_ … if _your wife_ will let you.”

Just as he’s about to stand and tell Luke he’s going to head home, his phone buzzes with a text. He pulls it out to check. And grins when he sees it’s from her.

_So ... public & shacked up? What do I call U when we’re co-habiting? Isn’t boyfriend & girlfriend a bit high school?_

He sits and stares at it, with his grin still in place, for what must be a while because Luke elbows him.

“What’s up? You look like you just opened the best Christmas present ever.”

Nathan shakes his head, but can’t stop the grin. “Something like that.”

“Good news?”

And it _really, really is._ He knew as soon as he thought of it that he wanted this; her under his roof. But right now, he feels every bit as good as he did when he got the call from the Bobcats back in June. She’s only just caught up to where his head’s been for the last couple of weeks, and now his has raced on ahead again. He’s dangerously close to being _totally, completely, utterly_ in love with Peyton Sawyer. Again. And this time around, it is so much more than the teenaged version.

“Luke, I’ve got to go,” he rushes out as he stands. “Can you make sure Brooke gets home?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” Lucas replies a little nervously.  Brooke seems to be speaking to him again, just. But he’s not sure she’ll accept a lift home from him. He supposes seeing her safely into a cab will qualify. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s great. Really great.”

“You’ll let me know what you think about this whole movie thing?”  
“Yeah. Sure. But Luke, _you_ really need to think about it carefully.”

“I know,” Lucas sighs. “It’s huge. A lot of money. Game changer for my writing career.”

“And …?” Nathan prompts.

“And what?”  
“What does Lindsey think?” Nathan asks as if he can’t believe Lucas hasn’t thought of this. Mainly because it’s true; he can’t believe Lucas hasn’t thought of this.

“She … ah, she … doesn’t know yet,” his brother admits with a cringe. “She’s in New York and was in meetings all day and Julian just turned up out of the blue this morning. He went through my agent, not through the publishers.”

“That explains how it even got this far,” Nathan says, thinking aloud.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your wife gets psycho paranoid if Sawyer is anywhere near a casual group event, Luke. Exhibit A; Tric two weeks ago. Do you really think she’ll be cool with you working on a movie version of the book that the reviewers called a love letter to Peyton?”

“I’m sure Lindsey will understand, Nathan. It’s my career.”

“I hope so, Luke, I really do. But I think you’re kidding yourself. I think you’ve _been_ kidding yourself for a long time. This thing with Lindsey? It’s not going to go away unless you tackle it head on. Maybe the thought of losing this opportunity and all that cash will finally make you step up and make a stand for one of your oldest friendships before you really can’t salvage anything.”

“Nathan, you don’t know what it’s like to have …”

“To have your wife think something’s going on when it isn’t? Yeah, Luke ... I don’t know what that’s like?” Nathan asks sarcastically. “ _Right._ The difference is that _my_ wife didn’t believe that there was nothing going on when it was absolutely crystal clear that I felt nothing for that psycho bitch of a housekeeper she hired. It doesn’t make what she’s done to Peyton in the past right, but we all know Lindsey’s actually got something to be worried about.”

“That’s just not true,” Lucas protests rather weakly. “I haven’t done ...”  
“Anything. I know. And even if you tried, Sawyer wouldn’t have a bar of it. But it’s what you _feel_ that I’m talking about, not what you _do_. Look, I really do have to go. But … the movie thing? Make sure you square it away with Lindsey before you sign anything, or you’re asking for trouble.”

He heads out and, once he’s in his car, replies to the text that put what he knows is the dopiest of dopey grins on his face.

_Call me whatever U like. As long as it’s ‘mine’. Cos that’s what UR from here on in. Heading home. Join me when U’ve done what U need 2 do._

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Just checks he’s clear and pulls out. There’s a buzz a couple of minutes later and he checks it quickly while sitting at a red light.

_B there by midnight, Mine. xxx_

He grins, takes off when the light changes then just has to pull over and reply.

_Good. Don’t wear yourself out. I need 2 remind U that Jagielski’s not the best U ever had._

_Promises, promises 23 xxx_

When Peyton arrives at the beach house, only just before midnight, he’s still up, watching some old basketball footage. She drops her bag and curls into his side.

“I didn’t hear the Comet,” he comments as he kisses the side of her face.

“Got a cab,” she yawns. “Too tired to drive and besides, my car’s at Brooke’s not the studio.”

“You should have called.”

“Honestly? Didn’t think. I lost track of where the car was I’ve been so here, there and everywhere. By the time I realized the car wasn’t in the carpark at Tric, I thought it was easier just to grab a cab, then one appeared out of nowhere.”

“You look beat.”

“Yeah. Good tired though.”

She falls asleep on him within minutes, and, after sitting and admiring her profile for a while, he carries her up the stairs without her even moving. She half wakes up as he’s tucking her in.

“Hey, Mine,” she smiles at him through sleepy eyes.

“I like that.”

“Me too.”

“Get some sleep,” he instructs, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“No. C’mere,” she says, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him down.

“You’re half asleep, babe.”

“That means I’m half awake, too. Are you saying no to me? On our first night after we’ve decided to move in together?”

“You’re too tired,” he protests a little, though his hands are already making a liar out of him.

“I thought you wanted to prove Jake’s not the best lover I ever had!” she challenges.

“You’re playing dirty again; you know I’m competitive.”

“Uh-huh. Is it working?”  
“You’re too tired,” he repeats. “You’re yawning!”

“Just … c’mere,” she insists. “We can do sweet, slow half asleep sex.”

“Sweet? Me?” he chuckles.

“You’re sweet,” she smiles, wrapping her leg over his hip and pressing her own hips up into him

“Don’t let anyone else know,” he mutters as he covers her mouth with his.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas attempts to use his 'friendship' with Peyton to get Julian on side. Jake arrives to start recording. And Julian proves himself to be rather clever.

**Next Day, Sunday**

It’s nearing 9.30 by the time they get back to the beach house from the River Rd track the next morning, Peyton flying high having beaten Nathan back to the car for the first time ever. He blames the beers the night before; she argues that she’d been on the margaritas and worked ‘til nearly midnight which must make them even. Her constant teasing, as she towel-dries her hair after a shared shower that she emerged from first, gets to him in the end and he feels the need to reassert his physical ‘supremacy’ as he calls it, by pinning her to the bed and holding her captive while he kisses her senseless.

She protests that she needs to think about heading back into the studio, and that this kissing is all very well but if he’s going to keep her from work much longer he needs to make it properly worth her while. He responds by unbuttoning her jeans and peeling them down her legs, trailing kisses after them. She’s making a laughing comment about getting clean just to get all dirty again and it being just as well he isn’t dressed yet as it’s less work for her, when a voice yelling Nathan’s name from downstairs interrupts them.

“Shit,” Nathan swears, “that’s Luke. Just when I was about to get you completely naked.”

“Poor baby,” she grins, running her fingernails down his back and making him shudder.

“Stay here,” he growls at her, standing and tucking his towel a little more firmly around his hips.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not going down there,” she assures him. He pauses in his stride and looks at her mischievously.

“What?” she asks.

“Just … stay there,” he instructs. “Be back in minute. Do _not_ move, Sawyer.”

“Not at all?”

“Not one little bit,” he confirms pointing a finger at her and trying to look very stern.

He strides out of the room and a few steps down the hall and she hears him yelling down the stairs.

“Luke? Just jumping in the shower. Give me twenty minutes … or so.  Put coffee on if you like.”

Then he’s back, closing the door as he reenters the room, striding into the bathroom to turn on the shower then returning and prowling up the bed to her.

“Nate? You’ve already had a shower.”

“Alibi.”

“What!?”  
“So it sounds like I’m in there.”  
“You’re crazy! And wasting water.”  
“Uh-uh,” he says knowingly. “ _You_ may not be _going down there_ , but …” he smirks, trailing his tongue down her stomach and over her hip bones.

“Nathan! Stop it! You can’t …” she declares in alarm.

“I assure you, I can. And _I_ may be wasting water but _you’re_ wasting time.”

“But … there’s …”

“Nope. Not listening.” He slips his fingers into the top of her underwear and pulls them down, trailing kisses after the fabric.

Damn he was good. His fingers feather over her hip bones, stroking down towards where his mouth is already tasting her. 

“Nathan, seriously … you can’t … oh God …”

Of their own volition, her fingers wind into his hair, cradling his head. Then he’s gently pulling her down the bed, carefully positioning her so that her hips are right on the edge, kneeling between her legs and fanning his palms over her inner thighs, pushing his tongue hard in to her, doing insane things to her heartrate and breathing. She’s completely lost track of time but it feels like hours that he takes, lifting her levels up, easing her down, then lifting again.  Then her fingertips are gripping his shoulders, digging in so hard she’s sure she’ll leave bruises.

“Baby,” she breathes as the tidal wave rolls through her.

He sighs contentedly, happy with his work, runs his flattened palms slowly up over her hips, under her old Zeppelin T-shirt to cup her breasts, resting his forehead on her stomach.

She catches her breath then lifts her head. “You look like you’re praying,” she murmurs.

“Maybe I am.  You’re a goddess, after all,” he all but whispers back, with a tone full of awe and wonder.

She sits, taking her face in his hands. “Nathan?”

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he sighs. “Just … kiss me.”

It might be the sweetest kiss ever, she thinks.

He stands, clearly reluctant to leave her, tells her to keep running the shower as a cover and to head down stairs in a bit; he’ll set her up for a quick escape.

When he enters the kitchen, having thrown on some jeans and a T-shirt, his brother is pouring the coffee into two mugs.

“Luke,” he acknowledges. “What are you doing here? And pour another coffee.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the movie thing. Why another coffee?”  
“Sawyer’s in the shower after our run. She’ll have one. I thought we covered the movie deal last night; I told you to talk to Lindsey.”

“Yeah,” replies Lucas, with his mouth twisted. “I did. And it didn’t go very well.”

“You may recall I predicted that,” Nathan says, trying to not sound smug.

“She went ballistic,” Lucas complains. “We had a huge fight.”

“Outcome?”

Lucas rubs his hand over his face. “Honestly? I’m not sure. It got really heated, and kinda crazy … but I _think_ she said she won’t come back to Tree Hill if I sign the offer.”

Nathan raises his eyebrows and leans back against the fridge.

“Wow. Harsh call.”

“So … if I want to do the movie, I’d have to either go to New York or live separately to my wife.”

Lucas almost sounds like he’s asking a question, like he’s still figuring this out when, to Nathan, it’s as clear as daylight.

“Right,” the brunette says assuredly. “So, what you’re saying is that it’s not actually doing the movie that Lindsey has the problem with. It’s doing the movie in a town with Peyton around. She’s worried about you reliving all those intense feelings while you write a script, then seeing her around.”

“I …  I don’t know ... I don’t get where Lindsey’s head’s at.”

“Man, it’s where it’s been at for the last year or more, since Sawyer came back to town. Bottom line is Lindsey doesn’t trust your feelings about Sawyer.”

“I haven’t done anything to …”

“No. Course not, Luke. Anything like … oh … avoiding her whenever you possible can? Soulful looks across the room when you can’t avoid her? Going ape shit at her? Kissing her then proposing to Lindsey?”

“That was all before the wedding,” Lucas argues. “And, besides, Lindsey doesn’t even know about …”

“No. But it happened. And she can clearly sense there’s something to be concerned about. Look,” Nathan says holding a hand up to signal the end to this particular conversational topic, “you’re not here to rehash all that crap. What are you gonna do about the movie?”  
“I guess I need to persuade Julian to work from New York,” Lucas says thoughtfully, “or at least not from Tree Hill, or ask him to push the project out to give me time to persuade Linds.”

“You think you have that kind of leverage with him?” Nathan asks skeptically.  
“I don’t know,” Lucas semi shrugs. “He seemed pretty keen on doing it.”  
“He seemed pretty keen on working here, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but is that just because Peyton’s here?” Lucas wonders aloud.

“Probably.”

“Surely we don’t have to be here,” Lucas argues. “I don’t have to be here to write a script.”

“I dunno, Luke. It’s … it’s his project. I guess you have to talk to him.”

“I called him,” Lucas states. “Set up a meeting.”

“Today?”

“No. He’s got other things on the boil, too. Said he’s not free again until Thursday afternoon.”  
“After his breakfast with Sawyer, then?” Nathan couldn’t resist stirring the pot, knowing his brother wouldn’t know that breakfast was happening. “Other things on the boil and you’re trying to dictate terms? Sounds to me like you’re up against it.”

At that point, they hear Peyton’s footsteps racing down the stairs. She bursts into the room, back in her jeans and still that ancient Zep T-shirt, damp hair pulled back in a ponytail and not a shred of makeup. She looks about fifteen. And both Scott boys are spellbound, just as they were at the same age.

“Coffee?” Nathan, first to come out of the Sawyer-induced haze, hands her a mug.

“Mmm. Nice. Thanks. Hey, Lucas,” she says cheerily. “Nate tell you I whipped his ass today?”

“Four seconds, if that, Sawyer,” Nathan protests with a pout.  
“I beat you over twelve miles, Hotshot,” she gloats. “Suck it up.”

He quirks his eyebrow at her, accompanied with what she has come to call his ‘lecherous grin’. Oh. Maybe _suck it up_ wasn’t such a good choice of words, she thinks, given what his mouth was doing a few minutes before, and hoping the heat she feels in her cheeks isn’t too obvious and taking a prolonged sip from the mug as cover.

“You’re all flushed, Sawyer. Have that shower cranked up too hot?” Nathan teases, clearly working hard not to laugh at her.

She gives him her best ‘you’ll keep’ look and reaches past him to take his car keys off the counter, making sure her fingertips graze his side in retaliation for his teasing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, grabbing her wrist.

“I need to go to work,” she states, eyeballing him and trying to make him stop that tiny little caress inside her wrist with his thumb.  
“Not in my car, you don’t,” he answers, ignoring both her frown and her attempt to release her wrist from his firm hold.

“Mine’s not here.”

Lucas looks between them. “I thought you said last night you were picking Nathan up?” he asks, confused by the undercurrents he can semi sense.

“Oh,” she says, waving her other hand dismissively, “yeah, but I worked super late last night and I just felt too tired to drive this morning so I grabbed a cab to here, and Nate drove us.”

It’s … not the truth. But not _that_ far from it. Only a few hours.

“That doesn’t make any sense. That means you doubled back.”

She shrugs, unfazed by Lucas’ grilling. “Not the most lucid thinker before 7am, I guess.  Anyway, good coffee. Gotta go,” she says, finally managing to twist her hand away from Nathan’s grip.

“What am I supposed to do without my car?”

“A. You’ve got two cars. B. If you must have this one, get Lucas to drop you at Tric on the way back into town and grab the keys off me. C. Don’t care!”

“You’ve never driven it without me,” he points out.  
“Nathan, seriously? I’m a _good_ driver.”

He guffaws, of course. They all still have her on about her driving back in the day.

“Fine!” she says. “I’m a good driver _now_!”  
“It’s not the Range Rover, Sawyer. It’s a performance car. Let me get the Range Rover out of the garage for you.”

She shakes her head and starts backing out of the kitchen, jiggling the keys teasingly.

“I can drive the car, Nate.”  
“I’d prefer to see that for myself first,” he counters.

“Call Coop. He’ll tell you,” she says confidently, her eyes sparkling with merriment.

“What? What the hell would Coop know? Besides, when did you last see him? At my second …”

“Second _wedding?”_ she asks. “Huh! I can still surprise you! I never told you Julian and I did racetrack training in LA, did I? We rocked up to do it and guess who the instructor was?”

“He’s not in LA. He’s never lived in LA.”

“I know. He was filling in for someone for a couple of weeks. Call him. I was awesome! He’ll tell you. I kicked Julian’s ass, that’s for sure.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring, Sawyer.”

She grins and turns, kicking her boot clad foot up to tease him and is walking swiftly down the hallway, hips swinging before he can say another word. When he turns back, he catches his brother watching those hips, with a look of utter longing on his face. Nathan shakes his head and snaps his fingers in front of Lucas’ face.

“More coffee, Luke?”

“Um, yeah, thanks. Not a lot of sleep last night,” Lucas comments, rubbing a palm over his tired looking face.

“Yeah, you did look like you were in a bit of a trance there,” Nathan scoffs.

“I was just thinking …”  
“About Sawyer’s ass?”

“No! I was just thinking … _I_ may not have much leverage with Julian, but …”

“Don’t you dare!” Nathan exclaims forcefully. “Don’t you fucking dare ask her to talk to him on your behalf.”

Lucas shrugs, leaving Nathan somewhat uncertain as to whether his brother would have the pure gall to try that. He decides it’s a risk he’s not prepared to take so when Luke leaves, Nathan texts Peyton to warn her that it’s a possibility. He doesn’t hear back, so he phones. She doesn’t pick up. He convinces himself that even this dumbass version of Lucas wouldn’t go that far, but a half hour later he still can’t get it out of his head, and he hasn’t heard back from her, so he picks up his phone again and calls someone he’s still not overly fond of, but who he knows won’t let him down on this one. Chris is still very thankful for the job Peyton gave him, the trust she’s placed in him and the possibility of her releasing his album. He’s subsequently very protective of her. _And_ he thinks Lucas is an idiot.

“Keller? You at the studio? Good. Keep an eye out for my brother. I hope I’m wrong but I think he might stop by. Make sure she’s not alone with him until I get there.”

She’s in the actual recording studio when Lucas walks in; she’s rearranging the set up so that it’ll work for Jake, who’s due in early afternoon. She’s sent Chris out for a few supplies so that if Jake hasn’t eaten on the way up, he’ll be able to recharge before they start working out a schedule for recording. For some reason, Keller argued with her but when she pulled rank and asked him if perhaps he’d like to start paying for studio time, he had to concede defeat.

Already planning out a draft schedule in her mind while she moves equipment around, she doesn’t hear Lucas come in and, when he’s leaning against the doorframe when she turns around, she jumps, her hand flattening against her chest in a protective gesture.

“God, Lucas! You gave me a fright! What are you doing here?”

“I wondered if we could talk?” he asks with a chastised little boy look on his face.

“Weren’t we just talking at Nate’s? An hour ago?” she points out, unmoved by his expression.  
He’s given some thought as to how to handle this, and figures a conciliatory approach will be required.

“I … I wanted to apologise,” he begins gently.

“For what?”

“Everything, I guess,” he replies, knowing he’s wearing that shy, forgive me face that usually turns her to butter.

“Lucas, I don’t know what that even means,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“An apology generally means sorry.”

“A blanket sorry that doesn’t actually acknowledge what the apology is for is fairly meaningless,” she states coolly. “It’s like … like when a kid says sorry just so they get dessert, but they don’t actually understand or appreciate what they did wrong.”

“Look, Peyt …” he begins, his hands moving up in a _help me out here_ show.

She merely raises her eyebrow at him.

“ _Peyton_ ,” he corrects. “Can we just put everything behind us and move on?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not the best choice of words, Lucas. Last time you talked about _moving on_ with me you were kind of vicious.”

He closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“C’mon, I’m trying here,” he says with a sigh.

“Fine,” she says, “whatever. You’re sorry for _everything_. Good. We’ll _move on_.”

“That sounds convincing,” he says sarcastically.

“It’s as convincing as your apology, Lucas,” she bites back.

“Peyton! Can’t we …”

“What? Be friends?”

“Well, yeah. Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know; maybe because your wife hates me, and you turn a blind eye to the way she treats me because you don’t have the spine to stand up to her over it?”

“It’s … she thinks …” he stammers.

“Lucas, I _really_ don’t care what she thinks,” Peyton launches, her arms unfolding and her right hand coming up to emphasise her point. “ _Whatever_ she thinks, it’s not true. If she thinks I have any residual feelings for you, she’s wrong. If she thinks you have any positive feelings for me, she’s clearly wrong again. If she thinks anything is going on with us, or will _ever_ go on with us, she’s wrong.”

“It’s not that simple,” he argues.

“Sure, it is,” she disagrees confidently. “It can’t _be_ any simpler than that. If you can’t make her see that, and believe that, that’s your problem, not mine. _My_ problem is that I know you’d go in to bat for Brooke or Haley or Nathan or Skills or Mouth, or even Junk or Fergie if it was them. And you know that’s the truth. But you’ve _never_ gone in to bat for me. So how can you possibly think we’re friends?”

She’s so focused on making her point that she hasn’t noticed Nathan walk carefully in through the studio door, nor that he is grabbed by an unseen person in the recording booth and pulled down to sit on the floor. Lucas, with his back to the booth, also sees nothing.

_“Keller,” Nathan says quietly. “I asked you not to leave …”  
“I know. She sent me out to get stuff and wouldn’t take no for an answer and there was no sign of him. I just came back in a couple minutes ago. But she’s doing great. Just sit. We’ll step in if we have to.”_

“Of course. we’re still friends,” Lucas whines. “I still care about you. I’m still proud of you.”  
“Well, thanks, I guess,” she answers dismissively. “Even though you can only say that sort of thing when Lindsey’s more than six hundred miles away.”

“Can we fix us before we worry about anything else? You’ve come back from worse than this with other friends; with Brooke, and with Nathan.”

She shakes her head, checks her watch. She’s about to blow him off when she thinks about the fact that she’s going to be living with this man’s brother in the very near future. And even though Nathan has been nothing but 100% supportive of her when it comes to Lucas, it can’t be easy for him to be in the middle of this; they’re brothers after all. That’s more important than any stupid issues between her and Lucas. And besides, how many times has she convinced Nathan that he can’t give up on Lucas? She’d be a hypocrite if she didn’t at least try, give him the benefit of the doubt, try to be friends.

“Look, Lucas, I’d argue that there was far less damage to repair with Brooke and with Nathan, but if you want to wipe the slate clean and start over, fine. Let’s see how that goes. But clean slate applies to you, not your wife ‘cos at least I know you can, theoretically, be a decent guy to me, even though I haven’t seen it for a long, _long_ time.”

He goes to protest but she holds her hand up to stop him. He’s kind of amazed at how articulate and strong she’s become. There’s no sign of the fragile, broken, afraid to stick up for herself girl that she used to be. And what she says next just reinforces that.  
“But let me make one thing very, _very_ clear. I _will not_ accept any more abuse from Lindsey. I don’t deserve it. If she wants a clean slate too, she still owes me an apology. She’s had plenty of them from me and she’s still never acknowledged them. Now … you need to go. I need to get stuff done, Lucas. Jake’s coming in soon.”

He nods. He knows it’s the best he’ll get for now. He’ll raise the Julian situation in a couple of days. She’s Peyton Sawyer. She is, as Julian said, the most forgiving girl in the world. And besides, he doesn’t particularly want to be there when Jake arrives; witnessing that happy reunion will … well he shouldn’t be thinking about how that’d make him feel.

“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair,” he cedes. “Thanks. I … I thought maybe you’d kick me out before we even talked.”

She frowns, confused.

“I’m sure Nath …” he continues in explanation, then stops himself.

“You’re sure Nathan what?” she presses, considering his slight discomfort.

“Oh … you know … he’s just insanely protective over you.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, “I love that about him. Protective … without being stifling and babying me,” she makes her point and he winces a bit at that. “But I still don’t see what … _oh_ ,” she says as it dawns on her what Lucas may have let slip. “You thought he was going to call me about _this_? He knew you were stopping by? I don’t get it; why would he call me to warn me about an apology?”

She studies him and sees something beneath the surface, something that isn’t quite right. “Unless that’s not what you were actually coming in for,” she wonders aloud, walking past him to her desk and picking up her phone. There _is_ a text from Nathan, which she reads, then shakes her head, resignation writ on her face.

“God, Lucas, you must think I’m such a fucking idiot, and I nearly was. ‘ _Sawye_ r’,” she reads aloud from her phone, “’ _Luke might pop by. Wants U2 go to bat with Julian on movie_.’ Why would you need me to do that?” she asks. “He’s offered you a deal. I know Julian; it’ll be a fair deal.”

“It is. I just … I need more … I need some time,” Lucas stutters.

“So, ask for more time. He’s not unreasonable,” she counters, shrugging to indicate that it’s not a big deal.

“He’s got other projects on the boil too.”

“So? He’ll come back to it,” she shrugs. “That’s the way these things work. Projects move back and forward all the time.”

“He wants to do it here. In Tree Hill,” Lucas replies carefully, guardedly.

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “Makes sense. It’s where it all happened. It’ll help get the vibe right in the script.”

“I … can’t do it here,” he says awkwardly. “I need to do it in New York.”

She watches him carefully over the course of this exchange. She’s watched this guy keep secrets and prevaricate before and the slight embarrassment on his face combined with the defensiveness in his stance tells her exactly what all this means.

“Unbelievable,” she breathes out. “Your wife, who has been an absolute _bitch_ to me, has given you an ultimatum, hasn’t she? And you want me to fix it for you?” she surmises accurately, shaking her head in disbelief.

He doesn’t reply.

“You’re serious?” she asks. “You actually came in here pretending to want to mend fences because you want me to use my relationship with Julian to your advantage?”

“I … I think I’m just asking my friend to put in a good word for me,” he explains limply.

“And _I_ think you’re using the _friend_ word, and taking advantage of that, a little too soon. Clean slate didn’t last long, did it?” she challenges.

“So, _you_ can be successful in rent-free space from my mother and you can’t help smooth something over for me?” he accuses bitterly. “ _I_ don’t get to be successful?”

“You’ve got a nerve; you know that? My business arrangement is with your mother, _not_ with you,” Peyton fires back, her eyes flashing. “And you _are_ successful. You are a bestselling author. And, by the way, _who_ sent your manuscript out to publishers, Lucas?”

She waits, tapping her foot, for a reply that doesn’t come.

“Lucas?” she insists. “When you were too afraid to send that manuscript out, who did it? Who spent hours at a photocopier and researching publishers and packaging it up and writing letters? Who did that? Probably not someone who _didn’t_ want you to be successful!”

“You did. And I appreciate that, but …”

“No. No you _don’t_!” she yells, taking a step forward and jabbing her finger in the air in his general direction. “You just want your dream and you don’t give a rat’s ass how you get it. And if it doesn’t happen you’ll blame me, the way you’ve blamed me for everything else that’s gone wrong in your life. Well, not this time. This is how it is; I _did_ want you to succeed. I _did_ want all your dreams to come true. I asked for _one year_ from you so that those dreams _could_ come true and you walked away from me over it. And when your dreams started coming true, because _I_ sent that bloody manuscript out for you, you never even told me! I had to see your book in a book shop to find out.  And not only did I lose _us_ over the fact that I wanted you to succeed, when you _did_ succeed, that bloody book kept coming back to haunt me. _I_ lost my relationship with Julian over that freaking book that made _you_ successful. And _I_ never blamed _you_ , the way _you’ve_ blamed _me_. So, don’t you _dare_ say I _didn’t_ want, or _don’t_ want, you to succeed. This? This position you’re in is _not my fault_. It’s _Lindsey’s_ ultimatum and it’s _your_ spinelessness that let it get so far that she could issue the ultimatum. So, you go talk to _her_ about it ‘cos we’re done here.”

He’s stepping towards her, anger rising. “Peyton, that’s a …”

“ _Get away from me!”_ she yells at the top of her voice. “Turn around and walk out, Lucas.”

“I can’t … this is …”  
“Turn around now before I really let rip and say something we’ll truly never recover from,” she insists, turning her back on him and walking away a few steps.

“Peyton!” he yells at full voice.

“The lady asked you to leave, Lucas.”

They both turn to the booth, where Chris is standing at the mic, leaning forward, his finger on the button, and staring fiercely through the glass.

“Stay out of this, Keller. It’s none of your concern.”

“Yeah it is, actually,” the musician retaliates instantly. “This is my place of work and you’re harassing my employer. Turn yourself around and leave.”

“Or what? You’ll make me?” Lucas scoffs.

“No, I’ll do that,” says his brother from right behind him, grabbing Lucas’ wrist and twisting his arm up behind his back, turning him around and strong arming him out the door.

“You alright, Goldilocks?” comes the voice from the sound booth after a long few seconds.

“Yeah, thanks Chris,” she responds, dragging her slender fingers through her hair. “I’m fine.”

The door opens again a few minutes later and, thinking it’s Nathan, she continues with her preparations for Jake, not turning around. Still trying to get her breathing under control and to clear her head.

“Some welcome for your latest star-to-be,” comes a smooth voice after a couple of minutes.

“Jake!” she cries, spinning around. “Sorry. Thought it was Nate.”

“So, _he’s_ getting the cold shoulder?” Jake chuckles.

“Oh … no! He was just … never mind ... he’ll be back in a minute.”

“He was just having a set to with Lucas in the carpark,” Jake tells her. “What’s up?”

“Oh … nothing. Lucas was just being … Lucas,” she says with shrug and a shake of her head.  “Anyway, c’mere and gimme a hug. It’s awesome to see you. Welcome to our humble little studio.”

They embrace warmly, then Peyton introduces him to Chris, and the three chat easily about how they’ll run the next few days of recording. Jake’s impressed with Chris’ knowledge and, when he hears Chris has heard the amateur recordings he sent into Peyton, he asks for Keller’s view on some new arrangements, and whether he thinks it might be a good move to include one or two covers on the album. They’re debating the virtues of something a bit country rock versus something a bit bluesy when, after a good half hour away, Nathan finally reappears, looking at his phone in a perturbed manner. Peyton’s half expecting him to be sporting a split lip or a black eye after his set to in the carpark, but there’s no visible signs of actual fisticuffs.

“You okay?” he asks her.

“I’m fine. Thanks for trying to warn me; I had …”

“Your phone on silent? Big surprise,” he says drily. “That’s why I called Keller.”

“You two joined forces?” she asks, a little incredulously. “Geeze, that’s a turn out.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh ... hey Jagielski. Sorry about that … thing in the carpark,” Nathan apologises with a shrug.

The two shake hands and bump shoulders.

“So … you need to go,” Peyton tells Nathan. “We have work to do.”

“Awesome, Sawyer. I help save your ass and you kick me out.”

“It was hardly saving my ass!”

“Does it at least count as a favour you owe me?” he asks, with a coy look on his face.

“Why?” she asks suspiciously.

“’Cos I really need one …” he says, pouting and pulling the sad, ‘help me out’ face he does so well.

“What is it?” she sighs, with that trademark eyeroll.  
“I missed an email about that charity game I’m helping out with … the one that’s coming up in three weeks?”

“So?”

“There’s a cocktail party afterwards and I’m required to have a presentable partner. I have to let them know like ... now. And seeing as how you _owe_ me …”

“Nathan, do you actually understand how busy I am?” she bites at him. “I can’t just take off to Charlotte because you missed an email,” she argues, noting that Jake and Chris are both listening in.

“Sawyer? Please?” Nathan pleads, mocking her by batting his eyelashes at her in a totally girly way.

“Oh crap. Don’t look at me like that! All puppy dog sad eyes!”  
He merely bats his eyelashes again.

“Oh God! _Alright._ But there are conditions.”

“You’re gonna make me regret this aren’t you?” he grins.

“Quite possibly. One. You’re buying me a dress ‘cos I have nothing from the last five years that’s suitable for a fancy pants cocktail party. Two. You’re putting me up in a decent hotel and not some fleapit on the highway. Three. If the cocktail party nibbles are awful or scarce or both, you’re taking me out for a decent meal afterwards.”

“You used to be such a humble small-town girl, Sawyer. Look at you making demands … what is it you musos call it? A rider?” he teases, thinking that she’s very skillfully just turned this into a romantic getaway without Jake and Chris, who are looking on in amusement, without having even the slightest clue. Peyton Sawyer is a very sneaky woman, he thinks. And he loves it.

“You wanna pay for new shoes too, buster?” she asks, prodding his arm.

He laughs, concedes defeat, farewells the guys, and heads out, sending his RSVP to the PR team who are chasing him for a confirmation. Peyton’s just asking Chris to head out and grab them all fresh coffees, when the recently departed Nathan reappears.

“What is it with you Scotts?” she laughs.

“We’re put on this Earth with the sole purpose of getting under your skin, Sawyer,” he retorts, “but I think you’ll like this one. PR team have just sent out an SOS. Their anthem singer for the charity game, which is being televised regionally by the way, just got rushed into hospital; gonna be out of action for weeks. They’re asking if anyone has contacts …”

She glances at Chris and Jake, then back at Nathan.

“Tell them I can give them a double hitter,” she says thinking fast. “They get platinum selling though currently slightly blocked Chris Keller …”

“Hey!” protests Chris. “ _Sabbatical_ , not blocked!”

She rolls her eyes. “They get platinum selling Chris Keller to do the anthem if they’ll also schedule up and coming Jake Jagielski to do a three-song set at half time. Both performers will waive their usual fee, as will their management.”

“Are you mad, woman?” yells Chris incredulously. “I’m flat broke.”

“Chris, you have zero expenses. You’re sleeping on the couch here, you’re putting your meals on Red Bedroom’s tab at Tric – yes, I did know that – and I’m paying you a bit on top of that. You need to start making appearances again. This is a live crowd of several thousand plus regional TV.”

“It’s cheesy,” he protests vehemently. “It’s the national freaking anthem!”

“Exactly! And it’s dear to everyone’s hearts. Need I remind you that you have done this before?”  
“Never!” he denies adamantly.

“Ravens’ game,” she crows triumphantly. “When you came back to town to cause trouble.”  
“Oh.”  
“And you were great! Other than the stupid comment you made about Tree Hill girls or girlfriends or whatever it was. And you can perform it with your own special delivery, I’m sure. Just don’t mess with it too much and cause patriotic outrage. Nate … just email them. Copy me in. You can vouch for how good Jake is, and I can send them a recording if they want to hear it. Red Bedroom will cover their flights down and their hotel rooms. But,” she says, spinning to point at Chris, “not your mini bar tab, Keller.”

Nathan, already busy typing in the offer, tells her he’ll let her know if he gets any queries from them and is gone again.

“Oh crap,” she says, “Jake, sorry, I didn’t even check it you could do it.”

“It’s okay,” he grins. “I’ll make it work. If my folks or Jo can’t swing it, I’ll just bring Jenny. She loves basketball.”

“Of course, she does! Oh … she could sit with me in the stands and watch her Daddy perform. How cool would that be?”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, but if it does, that’d be great.  Now … not to start throwing artistic temper tantrums, but did someone say coffee before?”

**Thursday Morning**

“Hey, you,” he grins in his usual charming way as she approaches the outdoor table he’s nabbed, standing to kiss her cheek as his arm pulls her into his side briefly, then holding her at arm’s length, admiring her unabashedly.

“You look awesome,” he states. “Even more so considering it’s not even 8.30 yet! When did you become a morning person?”

“I’m still not,” she smiles. “Not until I’ve had another coffee anyway.”

“Coffee’s already ordered,” he tells her with his trademark boyish grin, pulling out a chair and ushering her into it. She’s barely taken her set when coffee magically appears in front of her and she smiles gratefully at the waitress, then at Julian before she takes a long sip.

“Huh?” she thinks to ask. “Coffee within seconds of me arriving … how’d you know when I’d get here?”  
“I just gave them the order and said to make it as soon as the saddest girl in the world arrived. Oh! But … there’s the fatal flaw in my plan. You’re not the saddest girl in the world anymore. In fact … you’re not sad at all!”

“So,” she launches in, ignoring his teasing, “movie of _Ravens_ , huh? How’d _that_ happen, Mr Baker?”

He shrugs initially but knows he won’t get away with that.

“I read it,” he eventually admits, after she’s given him a long hard stare then poked his forearm with her index finger. “When I found out that you’d actually left LA and moved back here, I finally caved and read it.”  
“Why?”

He scrunches up his nose a little then gives a slightly embarrassed little shrug.

“Julian!? Just tell me, already. You know I’ll weasel it out of you.”

“Maybe I like making you work for it,” he chuckles.

She laughs good naturedly and settles in to wait. It really doesn’t take long.

“I just needed to understand,” he eventually concedes.

“Understand what?”

“The pull? What it was that had you so obsessed with that book, and what made you come back to a tiny little town where, in theory, you couldn’t advance your career.”

“You figure it out?” she asks with a humourous tone.

“You know? Not really,” he concedes.  
“No?”  
“I mean, I always thought that he must be this incredible, untouchable, impeccable guy, you know? I mean, _I’m_ alright, you know …”  
“Julian, you’re more than alright! You _were_ more than alright. I …”

“I know,” he says, placing his hand on hers for a moment. “I … I’m a catch, right? Semi successful, bright future, funny, smart, charming …”

“You forgot modest,” she says drily.

“And good looking!” he adds. “And with that boyish grin you fell for.”

“I did,” she agrees, smiling nostalgically and meeting his warm gaze. “I really did.”  
“I get that now. I know I doubted it, Peyton. I know I accused you of not being in it, but …”  
“I was<’ she answers softly. “You get that now?”  
“I do.”  
“Good. I’m glad. I never meant to …”  
“I know,” he interrupts, resting his hand on hers again.

“So ... you read the book, but it didn’t … clarify anything?”

“Well … I know you can’t necessarily explain the whys and wherefores of falling for a particular person but no, I really didn’t get the pull. Not if everything in that book is true.”

“Oh, it’s true,” she assures him.

“Then … if that’s the case, what I’m left with is that I think he never deserved your love or your loyalty.”

“I think he did, back then,” she replies with something like nostalgia.

“Debatable, but also not my place to argue,” he acknowledges.

Peyton is then startled by the waitress returning with two hotplates.

“Oh,” she says, waving a hand, thinking the girl has the wrong table, “we haven’t ordered yet.”

But Julian makes a liar out of her by gesturing as to which plate is hers.

“You ordered for me?” she asks.

“Don’t get all women’s lib on me,” he pleads. “I just ordered your two favourites and we can swap if you want number 2 today instead of number 1.”

“This is perfect,” she smiles as she considers her pancakes and his scrambled eggs, salmon and hash browns.

“Really?” he prompts, knowing that twinkle that’s appeared in her eyes.

“Swap?” she asks coyly.

“Totally,” he grins in return, swapping the plates over.

“Hmmm,” she sighs regretfully, eyeing both plates again.

“Eat half, you fool,” he laughs, “then we’ll swap back.”

“Awesome! And yes, Julian Baker, you _are_ a catch!”

“So,” he says as they both tuck in, “you want to tell me why, after coming back to Tree Hill, you’re not Mrs Lucas Scott and the editor is?”  
“Well, A. I would be Mrs _Peyton_ Scott …” and she stops, completely losing her train of thought. Oh. Wow. Now _that’s_ not something she’d thought about. Not in this new context, anyway. Julian watches her for a few seconds, waiting for her to regain her flow, then is just mesmerized by the dreamy look on her face.

“Peyton?” he eventually prompts.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Where was I?”  
“Not Mrs …”

“Right. Well, it’s kind of a lot of drama and ...”

“Of course, it is!” he mocks, throwing his arms out expansively at the wider area. “It’s Tree Hill!”

“Shut up, you! You’re not allowed to make fun of our little town; only locals are allowed to do that.”

“Drama, huh?”  
“Yeah, I mean, you really don’t want to hear it, it’s all just … in the past, and the upshot is that I came back for more than one reason anyway, and it’s panned out pretty well overall.”

“Just _pretty_ well? Seems like you’re kind of kicking ass at this record label thing if the other night’s anything to go by.”

“Yeah. That was my first reason for coming back; the business in LA is just … not me. You know how much I struggled with it, even then.”  
“I’m glad, Peyton,” he says genuinely, touching her hand for moment. “I’m really pleased you’re making those dreams come true. No one deserves it more. Almost makes me want to pick up my guitar again.”

“Well, I’ve heard you play and let me tell you … stick with the camera, kid.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“Anytime.”  
“So … the other reasons?”

“I wanted to help a friend through a rough spot.”  
He studies her face for a long while.

“Brooke?”  
“Sort of. She wanted to come back so it seemed a good time but also … Nathan.”

“Car accident, right?” he asks to check his memory then, when she just nods because she has food in her mouth, continuing on. “But … he seems good. I enjoyed meeting him the other night.”

“Yeah. Drunk driver,” she confirms. “And he’s great now, but he was in a wheelchair; it was kind of dark. But … yeah … he’s back.  And Brooke’s … well _you_ tell _me,_ Julian Baker!” she says playfully. “You seemed quite enamored with our Brooke Davis last Saturday.”

“I thought we were meeting so _I_ could grill _you_ about boys?” he deflects.

“We’re meeting so you can put a big tick against my name for being okay with you making this movie with Lucas,” she says a little sternly, pointing her knife at him.  
“And are you?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. “Really okay with it?”  
“Yes, of course.”

“It’s a personal story. I _do_ get that. Are you sure?”

“Julian, I trusted you with my _heart_ ,” she points out with a smile. “I think I can trust you with my part of this story.”

“But you told me I broke your heart,” he reminds her softly.

“I know. And you did. But I know I broke yours too. The thing is, neither us meant to. It just … it wasn’t the right time for either of us, Julian.”

“Is that really all it was?” he asks, seemingly from genuine interest rather than from having any particular axe to grind.  
“I don’t know,” she admits reluctantly. “I mean, the thing is, if there hadn’t been Lucas, there wouldn’t have been you and me. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that those two times we met it was due to him, really. But … if it hadn’t been for him, we might have worked too, so … I just don’t know.”

“What exactly _do_ you know?” he teases.

“I know that I don’t regret you, Julian,” she says adamantly, looking him directly in the eye. “You … yeah, you kinda broke my heart, but you kinda fixed it too, you know?”

“Yeah. I know,” he agrees, resting his hand on hers for a moment.  
“And … the way you came to me afterwards and got us to the point where we could be … whatever … that was … I loved that ‘cos I really do _like_ you. You’re …”

She bites on her bottom lip for a moment before starting to speak again, then stopping.

“What?” he prompts.

“No, it’s okay.”

“You were going to ask if I came to Tree Hill just for the movie or for … something, or some _one_ , else. Weren’t you?”

“I ... no … oh … I don’t know!” she declares.

“It’s okay,” he reassures her. “It’s okay to ask that.”

“Julian …”  
“The thing is, I’m not even sure myself. I mean … I miss you, I do. Maybe that was kind of in my head too, but …”  
“But now … Brooke?” she teases.

“You think you’re so smart!” he chides her.

“You break her heart, I’ll break your face.”

“Duly noted,” he says with a nod.

“Good. You’re …”

“Awesome? Right?”

“Right,” she says drily.

“Awesome enough for you to put in a good word for me with Brooke Davis?” he asks, eyebrow raised and that irresistible grin of his in place.

“Maybe after I see the finished script,” she answers in her best negotiating tone.

“Uh-huh, now your true colours come out!”

“I’m really okay with the movie; I do trust you,” she says. “Just … don’t make me too whiny and pathetic?”

“I couldn’t if I tried,” he laughs. “You’re too amazing to ever look either of those things.”

“Look at us!” she laughs, emphasizing her point with a jabbing motion of her fork. “We should set up a little mutual appreciation society!”

“Can Brooke join too?” he asks with another cheeky grin and raised eyebrows.

“Do you _really_ like her?” Peyton asks him intently. “You’re not just …”

“Not just what?”

“Doing what you do; the starlets and the …”

“The _what_?” he asks incredulously.  
“Julian! C’mon; like at Sundance.”  
“I didn’t go to Sundance,” he replies, with an uncertain frown.

“I saw the press stories!”

“What? Since when do you read that crap? And anyway … you’re talking aout the stories my Dad _planted_ to make it _look_ like I was there and in demand! When I was actually holed up in my old apartment being a big wuss ‘cos I’d just split up with my amazing girlfriend?”

“I … you …” she stammers. “Julian,” she continues softly, _“really?”_

 _“Really,”_ he says adamantly. “Peyton, there’s no way, with my head and my heart where they were, that I would have just …”

“Julian, do not quote my own seventeen-year-old words back at me! Especially not the words I said to Lucas when he was being a horny little jackass!”

“I’m sorry,” he says contritely. “You’re right. That was …”  
“You know what?” she interrupts him, shaking her head. “ _I’m_ sorry. I should have known that you weren’t like that.”

“Would it have made any difference?”  
“I … don’t know. I really don’t. But …”

“It doesn’t matter, right?” he asks, interrupting her this time. “Because you’ve found something that … what was it you said?  Is _really good, bordering on truly great_?”

She blushes prettily, looking down at her plate, before looking up to meet his gaze and nodding.

“Peyton Sawyer,” he says with something like wonder in his voice, “you’re _in love_.”

“No! I … well … I …”  
“You don’t have to tell me,” he assures her. “I mean, you _are_ , so don’t try and tell me you aren’t. But you don’t need to tell me. The only thing you need to tell me is that he’s good to you.”

“I think I told you that the other night,” she says demurely, with a soft but certain smile.

“How long?”  
“Um … a few months.”  
“Seems kind of fast for the girl that’s usually wary and guarded. Was this … a … um … post-Scott wedding reflex?”

She laughs, shaking her head confidently.

“It was post-Scott wedding,” she agrees, “but that’s irrelevant. I … was already done and dusted with all that.”

“Still,” he poses, “pretty fast.”

“Maybe,” she smirks.

“Or not?” he says thoughtfully, the cogs clearly meshing behind his brown eyes.

“What?”  
“You already knew him, right?” he asks, though he knows he’s right.

“Julian, I am not going to play guessing games,” she protests.  
“Good. So, you’re just going to tell me who it is then?”

“I … really can’t,” she says with a slightly wistful tone.

“Because no one else knows?”  
She shrugs a little, but of course he knows he’s right. Again.

“I know you well enough to know this isn’t hush-hush because he’s married,” Julian says confidently. “So why else would you keep it quiet?”

“Julian …” she protests at his searching.

“I reckon I could guess,” he suggests.

“Probably,” she admits reluctantly.

“Or you could just tell me, because you know I want you to be happy. And deep down, you really want to tell someone. And … if I let your secret slip, you can tell Brooke Davis not to even consider me ‘cos I’m a jerk.”

“You’re not though, and I wouldn’t tell her that.”

“You do want to tell someone though, don’t you?” he laughs.

“We’re going to … soon.”

“I might be gone by then,” he points out.

“Or you might be here still, wooing my best friend,” she retorts instantly.  
“Too weird?” he asks with a cute little frown between his eyebrows.

“You’d think, huh?”  
“But?”  
“I think I might be putting in a good word for you instead,” she says with a genuine smile. Actually, the more she considers it, the more she can really see Brooke and Julian together.

“I knew there was a reason why I like you so much, Peyton Sawyer.”

“Just make me look great in that movie, Baker!”

“Maybe there’s someone else you’d like me to look great in that movie?” he suggests as he leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at her appraisingly.

“What?”  
He leans forward and extends a hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. It’s an intimate gesture, and yet somehow, she finds she doesn’t mind.

“It’s kind of … poetic,” he says with his charming grin on full display.

“Poetic?”  
“When it comes full circle,” he says knowingly.

“When what comes full circle?”  
“First love.”  
“I … what are you talking about?” she asks nervously.

“I think everyone else is too close to see it, Peyton, but that’s the thing with having fresh eyes and … a knowledge of the players without wearing the blinders of overfamiliarity.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she protests. But of course, she does.

“Sure, you don’t. You want another coffee?”

“I should get to the studio,” she declines regretfully. “We’re recording.”

“Right,” he nods. “Jake?”

“Yeah.”  
“Going well?”  
“Very.”

He sees the thought cross her mind and laughs at her.

“What?” she asks.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns with a chuckle.

“What?”

“Trying to persuade me that your guy is Jake?”

“I … wasn’t …” she says weakly, knowing he’s totally caught her out.

“Good,” he smirks. “’Cos it wouldn’t have worked.”

He places some bills on the table and stands, extending a hand to help her up, then ushers her ahead of him before pulling her into a hug and kissing her temple. He gives her an extra little squeeze then murmurs hear her ear.

“He’s a good guy. For what it’s worth; I approve.”

“I … what?”

He takes a half step back and grins.

“He’s a good guy,” he repeats.

“Who, smartypants?”

“That Scott boy.”  
“Julian! Seriously, he’s married and I told you that …”  
“Uh-uh-uh,” he says, shaking a finger from side to side in front of her. “You’re not getting away with that. You know damned well I meant the _other_ Scott,” he says before he turns her around and pushes her gently on her way towards the studio.

He watches her back until she reaches the corner, then checks the traffic and lopes across the road to another café. He enters and joins his soon-to-be screenwriter at a window table.

“Lucas,” he says far too cheerily, “thanks for meeting me. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I’m sure you aren’t at all,” Lucas says suspiciously.

“Sorry?”

“You asked me to meet you here deliberately, didn’t you?”

“Um, yes? So that we can discuss the project.”

“So that I’d see you across the road with Peyton, you mean. And you overlapped the times quite deliberately too.”

“Oh. You saw that?” Julian laughs lightly. “All that chatting, laughing, hugging? Just as well you’re a married man with no claims on _my_ ex-girlfriend, right?”

Lucas narrows his eyes and mutters something unintelligible under his breath while Julian attracts a waitress and asks for a coffee, and another of whatever Lucas has had in the half hour he’s been here.

“So,” Julian says cheerily, “tell me what your issue is, Lucas? I’m not interested in working in New York; hate the place. So, tell me why, if we work here in Tree Hill, you need to delay committing to the project?”

“Is there any chance?”

“Depends,” Julian shrugs.

“On?”

“On whether you’re delaying then going to back out, or delaying a start time but will sign the contract now. Or whether you’re delaying for other, more … personal reasons.”  
“Personal reasons, like what?”  
“Oh … Peyton. Brooke. Any other girls you’ve dated that I might be interested in.”

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

Julian laughs, unconcerned. “I’m a dick that wants to make us both a lot of money, Lucas Scott. So why don’t you get over yourself and tell me what the problem is?”

“I just need a little time to get everything lined up,” Lucas counters.  
Julian sits back, arms over his chest and eyeballs his potential business partner.

“Right. No one in their right mind turns down something this lucrative that will, in all likelihood, kick off a whole new stage in their career,” Julian says confidently. “So, the things you need to get lined up are personal.”

Lucas merely sits impassively, unwilling, perhaps unable, to articulate his position. Julian waits, seemingly unbothered by the silence, until Lucas can’t stand it any longer.

“Look,” he says eventually, “my wife needs a little persuading, okay? It’s a big call. It’s not that unusual to need to …”

“Your wife, who is also your editor?” Julian asks with a disbelieving raised eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.”

“You have any idea how many brownie points, not to mention extra bucks, she’ll get for having published a book that attracts a kickass movie offer?”

“Well, I don’t really know how all that …”  
“Well, I do. This will be very, very good for _her_ career as well as yours, Lucas, so don’t give me any bullshit about needing to get her on board,” Julian insists, before pausing and nodding as he realizes what Lucas isn’t saying. “Right. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Her objection isn’t professional; it’s personal.”  
“Well, I don’t really …”  
“Let me guess,” Julian says smugly. “She has an issue with you working with this material again? Rehashing the past? Or … living in the past, maybe?”

“I … aah …”  
“Tell you what, Lucas,” Julian says, as he stands and throws some cash on the table. “You’re in luck. My next project doesn’t kick off for a few weeks yet. And, let’s just say I like your sweet little town,” he grins mischievously. “And I like the … _people_ … in your sweet little town.  I’m gonna stick around for a while.”

“I … well … I mean, you don’t need to stay in town,” Lucas says, looking rather perturbed. “I just need …”  
“No,” Julian interrupts. “I’m gonna stay. For a couple weeks, maybe. Maybe longer. That gives you a couple weeks to get your wife on board. And that gives me a couple weeks to … get to know the locals.”  
“Two weeks?”  
“Or so,” Julian shrugs as he steps back from the table. “I guess, at the end of that time, I’ll have a pretty good idea of where I stand.”  
“Where you stand?”  
“With the project,” Julian grins, “And … maybe with the locals, too. Keep me posted, Lucas Scott.”  
And he’s gone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that really lovely scene in series 6, where Peyton's driving along, listening to Mia on the radio, and she notices a lovely mother and child on the footpath, and it's all beautiful and peaceful and tranquil and then ... bam!? Yeah. That happens in this chapter. But it's all fine. Promise.

**September**

Heading out of a heavy workout session followed by a quick shower at the high school, Nathan’s distracted, feeling like he spent more of the workout looking at the ‘PS’ initials carved into the weights on the old bench press machine than he did pushing the weights on the new one. He didn’t. His focus when he’s ‘in the zone’ is legendary. But still, it’s nearly a month since the ‘this is a relationship’ conversation, and even though she’s been doing crazy hours (still) and he hasn’t seen enough of her for the last week, since the ‘moving in together’ conversation, those initials were just calling out to him during that workout.

He’s thinking he’ll grab a couple of coffees and surprise her at work, then thinks better of it and decides to check in with her and make a time to meet up for lunch. He has a deep, nagging need to see her, to sit and talk and just … _be_. He always does, but this is different somehow. Maybe he’ll push it and try and convince her to take the afternoon off and turn lunch into a _session_ of a whole different type. When he pulls his phone out, he spots a missed call and picks up the message to hear Brooke’s very panic-stricken voice.

_“Nathan. It’s Brooke. Shit … where are you? I need you to call me back as soon as you get this … crap … I don’t want to leave a message about this but I’m in New York and trying to get a flight back. If you’re in one of those insane long work outs of yours I might be in the air by the time you get this.  It’s Peyton. I just had a call from the hospital. She’s been in a car accident. I don’t know anything more. I’m trying to get back, but you have to get there. Call me, please. Oh ... it’s nearly 9 now.”_

He sprints, checking his watch. Dammit. Two hours since Brooke’s call. Two hours or more that she’s been in hospital, _alone_. Fuck. His chest feels tight and despite the shower, he’s breaking out into a sweat just thinking about her being hurt. God. _Hurt._ No. He absolutely cannot think about that. She’s fine. She’ll be fine. She _has_ to be. It’s taken them the best part of a decade and they’re finally … no. She is _not_ seriously hurt. He phones Brooke from the car but gets voicemail. Dammit.

_“Brooke. Just got your message. I’m sorry … it’s after 11, but I just got it. I’m on the way to the hospital now. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. Call me back when you get this.”_

 

 

She comes to in the emergency department, in a curtained off bed. She tries to open her eyes but the light is so bright that she leaves them closed. It takes her a few moments to situate herself. She figures from the noises that she’s in the hospital. The intense pain in her chest, head and wrist certainly back up that theory.

She can clearly remember driving the Comet from Nathan’s beach house towards the studio, talking to Mia on the phone, while her star artist’s latest track was on the radio. She’d seen a beautiful mother and daughter on the pavement and felt, _really_ for the first time ever, that maybe, in the not too distant future, that might be her. Her and a little girl with blonde curly hair, an attitude and dark blue Scott eyes. Or a little boy with dark hair, a smirk and a basketball permanently attached to his hand. She’d felt a surge of affection, and then laughed because she had had all of those thoughts without the traditional Peyton Sawyer fear and panic that used to accompany ‘the big stuff.’

And she remembers taking off from the traffic lights (green!) and watching helplessly as a dark SUV got closer and closer and closer, knowing that while it seemed like it was moving frame by frame, it was travelling far too quickly and that there was absolutely nothing she could do but wait for it to hit.

She brings her attention back to the room, tries again to open her eyes but the light is just too glary. She is aware of her hand being held and, thinking it’s Nathan, she squeezes a little. The hand squeezes back and she knows right away that it’s not his palm, his fingers, his thumb. It’s not quite large enough, not quite calloused enough; it just doesn’t fit her hand in the right way.  But the voice that accompanies the hand squeeze is distorted and she can’t quite make it out. She’s going to have to open her eyes, which she does, just a little.

“Peyton?” the voice asks from a distance. “Oh, thank God. How are you feeling?”

“Lucas? Why are you …?” Her voice is a little weak sounding, she can tell. She withdraws her hand from his, but he takes it back, sandwiching it between his two. He leans in and kisses her temple before he speaks.

“I was leaving after my annual heart check,” he explains. “I saw them bring you in. Can I get you anything? Water?”

“Nathan. Get him.” She eases her hand away again, this time placing it across her chest so he has no choice but to leave it alone.

“Peyton. It’s okay,” he assures her. “I’m here. I …”

“My phone?” she interrupts.

“It was thrown from the car. It’s smashed.”

“Call Nathan.”

“Peyton, I know you and Nathan are close. But I’m here, it’s okay,” he says in what she knows is supposed to be a reassuring manner.  He’s just pissing her off more, but even in her less than optimal state, she knows he won’t know that, or why.

“ _Please_ get Nate?” she pleads, scrunching her eyes up as her head throbs.

“I ... don’t think I can,” Lucas admits. “He ... after that studio … um … thing, he won’t usually take calls from me.  I had to accost him at the court to get him to meet Jul …”

“Brooke?” she sighs.

“I’ve tried her. She’s not answering either.”

She closes her eyes against the glare.

“Fine,” she mutters. “I’ll get them later. You … go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m staying. You need a friend with you.”

“I do,” she agrees. “Nathan or Brooke. You want to do something for me? Leave, please.”

He’s about to speak, to protest further, when the curtain is pulled back and Nathan steps into the confined space.

“Sawyer, I swear to God, you’ll be the death of me,” he declares, massively relieved to have been told she’s not in any danger and that her injuries are painful but by no means life-threatening.

“Nathan,” she says feebly, tears threatening.

He moves to her bedside immediately, kisses her cheek on the side farthest from his brother and murmurs very quietly in her ear.

“Why’s he here?”

Then he leans over her and kisses her other cheek, screening her from Luke so she can whisper back.

“Saw me come in. Won’t leave.”

He tenderly pushes her hair back from her eyes, shaking his head at her, briefly closing his eyes against the sight of her battered and bruised.

“Who called you?” she asks him.

“Brooke. She’s trying to get a flight back. Hospital called her. I guess she must be on file somewhere as a contact for you? Or maybe they called your Dad and he called her?”

“Call her,” she says softly. “Say not to come, if it’s not too late. She’s got a huge week.”

“Sure. I’ll call her soon. Lucas,” he says, turning to his regard brother coolly, “I’ve got this.”

“I’ll stay. I need to know Peyton’s okay,” Lucas insists.

“Lucas. I’ve got her. You can go back to your wife,” Nathan says dismissively.

“Linds went to New York yesterday,” Lucas replies.

“Of course, she did,” Nathan scoffs. “You can step up for your ‘friend’ when the boss is out of town, right?”

“Nathan! I’m worried about Peyton,” Lucas insists, casting a sideways look at the patient in the bed. “She ran a red light.”

“I did _not!”_ she protests firmly, looking from Lucas to Nathan to make sure Nathan doesn’t believe this crap, then winces as her head thumps again.

“I overheard the police talking, Peyton,” Lucas tells her, speaking as if she’s a two-year-old. “I’m concerned about your state of mind. I thought you’d stopped this sort of thing.”

And the flare of anger pushes the pain in her head that comes with talking clean out of her mind. “Someone else ran the red, you _ass,”_ she spits out. “I am _not_ that stupid girl anymore. My state of mind is just fine … despite all your attempts to the contrary. Oof.”

She raises a hand to her head. Arguing really isn’t such a good idea, but she’s not letting him get away with that crap.

“Look, this is not helping, Luke,” Nathan insists. “At least go and get a coffee or something. Give us a few minutes.”

“Fine,” his brother says reluctantly. “I’ll be back soon. I want to hear what the doctor says.”

He heads out of the cubicle, casting a long look back over his shoulder.  He’s having enormous trouble reconciling the Peyton he knows and the Peyton she is now.  He doesn’t know when she became this person; a person that doesn’t need _him_. A person that is immune to his words.

Nathan watches him leave the emergency department, then draws the curtain again. He places hands either side of Peyton’s shoulders and leans in to place a sweet, gentle kiss on her lips.

“Babe, I’m so sorry,” he sighs, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. “I didn’t get Brooke’s message until 11. What can I do?”

“Kiss me again. That’s my drug of choice. Then get up here. And don’t beat yourself up; I’ve literally just woken.”

He sits carefully on the side of the bed, but she’s having nothing of that, and insists he lies next to her, doing her best to wriggle over a little, but not being terribly successful.

“You know what this means?” he asks when he’s settled at her side, taking her hand carefully in his. _That’s_ what the hand holding hers is supposed to feel like; the right size, the basketball callousing in the right places.

“What? The car crash?”

“Mmmm.”

“It means some idiot ran a red. That’s _all_ it means.”

“Wow. You know teenaged angsty artist Peyton would be reading way more into this. It’s not gonna start a whole new series of traffic light sketches?” he teases gently.

“Ow. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts,” she protests.

“Sorry babe,” he winces, kissing her temple. “Where I was heading, is that this means I’m not going to let you delay going public any longer.”

“Um ... join the dots for me?”

“I should’ve been the first to know Sawyer, not via Brooke, as wonderful as she is, and certainly not after Lucas.”

“Well ... it’s kind of a fluke that he was ...”

“You know what I mean,” he insists. “If it was me, right now, based on current details on file, the calls would probably still go to Haley, then maybe my Mom, then Lucas. Is that what you want?”

“No! Of course not. I’d want to be there for you right away.”

“My point exactly. We’re more than three months in. I need to be able to call you babe in public. I need to be able to hold you and touch you and kiss you and have everyone know it’s you and it’s me and it’s _us_.”

“But …”

“Don’t care,” he interrupts firmly.

“Let’s talk about this when we get me out of here.”

And he wants to fight her on this, but her wrist is tightly strapped, and there’s a crazy bruise on her forehead, and she’s clearly not breathing quite properly with the pain and he’d be a real piece of work if he pushed it now.

“Promise?” he asks, tenderly pushing her hair back from her face again, his dark blue eyes searching her green.

“Promise,” she smiles, then points to her own lips with a raised eyebrow. He chuckles, and leans in to kiss her softly again.

They continue to chat quietly until, a few minutes later, the curtain is pulled back by a doctor, accompanied by Lucas. The picture they see is Nathan and Peyton lying close on the hospital bed, murmuring quietly, heads close, Nathan’s hands painting a picture in the air, and Peyton smiling. Nathan jumps to his feet immediately he sees the doctor.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. There must be some protocol about being on the beds, he figures.

“No problem,” the doctor replies. “Patient awake and smiling, so it’s all good.”

“Hey, Dr Gunterson,” Peyton says, if not exactly brightly, at least with a little of her usual tone.

“Oh dear. You know me<” the doctor grimaces. “That usually means you’ve been in before; not such a good thing.”

“Long time ago now,” she offers by way of clarification.

The white coated doctor looks at her chart.

“Peyton Sawyer,” he muses thoughtfully. “I remember you! The shooting at the high school. What was that? Five years ago?”

“That’s me. I guess you don’t see that many bullet wounds in Tree Hill for it to have stuck in your mind.”

“No, we don’t,” he agrees. “But that’s not why I remember you. It was my first week as an ER attending so I was a nervous wreck and everything was pretty vivid.”

“Well, I’d never have known. I remember you being awesome; very calm and reassuring.”

“And I remember you being incredibly brave,” he says admiringly. “Absolutely stoic. Actually, I think we had a nickname for you … can’t quite recall it. Anyway … I see that bravery hasn’t changed.”

“Oh … I’m fine,” she says, waving her non-injured hand a little.

“You’re smiling away but I know exactly how much pain you’re in,” the doctor counters with a wry smile.

“Sawyer,” Nathan admonishes, “you said you were feeling okay.”

“Nathan, I’m fine,” she argues. “I just want to know when I can go home.”

“Gossamer girl,” muses the doctor.

“Excuse me?”

“Gossamer girl is what we called you. When you were in with that bullet in your leg.”

“As in creepy black widow spider?” she jokes. “Great!”

“No. As in looks fragile and delicate but is incredibly strong, strong enough to support things that are much bigger than looks possible. Right. Well. Let’s get to it, then shall we? Bruised ribs; quite badly bruised too. That’s why it’s a bit hard for you to breathe properly. But no breaks by the looks of it. And a _very_ badly sprained wrist, but again, not broken. So, this is going to mean taking it very easy for a few days. No physical activity.”

“No problem,” she smiles. “I’ll work from home.”

“Aah ... no ... I’ll be confiscating your laptop and phone,” Nathan cuts in.

“Lucas said my phone was thrown from the car,” she says with a crinkled-up nose. “It’s a goner.”

“Good. One less thing to lock away from the workaholic,” he says with a gentle nudge to her upper arm.

“And a mild concussion,” continues Dr Gunterson. “I’d say your head hit the steering wheel or the side of the door, but either way, the concussion means we’ll keep you in overnight … just to be sure.”

“Is that really …?”

“Necessary?” the doctor asks with a rather parental-looking raised eyebrow. “Yes. I’m pretty sure you’ll be clear to go home tomorrow, but I’m not prepared to send you home today and chance that concussion being worse than it looks. It’s just not worth the risk when it comes to the grey matter.”

“But I can go home tomorrow?”

“As long as you have someone with you for a few days ... and it sounds like that someone needs to be able to keep you in line, so you don’t overdo it, Miss Sawyer,” he says firmly, but kindly.

“But my roomie’s away for a few days.”

Lucas, silent until now, leaps into the conversation. “I’ll stay with …”

“No problem,” interjects Nathan with a firm look at his brother. “Peyton will be staying with me.”

“Nathan,” she protests, “you’ve only got a week before camp. You need to be in the gym and on the court.”

“Camp?” Lucas interjects. “Are you _playing_ again? With a team?”

“Oh shit!” Peyton exclaims, bringing her hand to her mouth and then gasping a little with the pain that shoots through her wrist. “Nate, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said …”

“It’s fine,” he replies, shaking his head. “It’s actually in this morning’s papers and it’ll be all over the place by the end of the day. It’s official.”

“Nathan, that’s amazing,” Lucas says in disbelief.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nathan says dismissively. “Look let’s not tie up the doctor’s time on this. Let’s sort out Sawyer. So, I can keep training at home. It’s just a few days. And Brooke’s probably due back before I head to Charlotte anyway. Between us you’re covered and we won’t let you weasel your way into working.”

“If Brooke needs to stay in New York for longer …”

“I can help out,” Lucas insists.  “You’ll let me know if I can help? If Brooke gets delayed?”

“Yeah Luke, we’ll do that,” Nathan says drily. “‘Cos we’ve seen how good you are at standing up to strong minded women.”

“Nathan, that’s …”

“Look man, I’m sorry,” Nathan says genuinely. “I shouldn’t have had a go at you. I’m just worried about Peyton.  We will … okay … we’ll let you know if we need your help.”

“Really?” Luca asks skeptically.

“Really,” Nathan says genuinely. “For now, though, why don’t you head out? You’re got a season to get ready for too.”

“Well ... if I’m not needed,” Lucas says begrudgingly.

“You’re not, not right now. But I _will_ let you know Luke. I promise. If we need Sawyer-sitting help, I’ll let you know.

Lucas looks between them, studies his brother for a moment, decides he’s not just fobbing him off, and departs with reluctance.

“So, Dr Gunterson. Can we get this girl into a room for the afternoon and tonight or will she be stuck here in the ER?”  Nathan’s stepping into that protective thing he does and Peyton feels herself relax a little more knowing he’s taking charge.

“We’re working on that. Should be an hour or so. But before that we’ll take care of topping up pain relief.”

“Anything else we need to know?”

“That’s it for now. Peyton, I’ll be checking in with you this afternoon and it’ll be me that clears you to go home tomorrow.”

“And it’ll be okay for me to stay with Peyton tonight?” Nathan prompts.

“Nathan … no! That’s not ...”

“Don’t start with me Sawyer,” he retorts, wagging a finger at her with a mock telling off look on his face. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

“It’ll be fine,” the doctor smiles. “When you get upstairs, there should already be an armchair in the room. They recline and they’re actually pretty comfortable.”

“Thanks, Dr Gunterson,” Peyton says. “Oh, I didn’t actually introduce you to Nathan.”

“No need. Nathan Scott, right?”

Nathan and Peyton give each other questioning looks then look back at the doctor.

“Big Bobcats fan,” the man explains. “They missed you last season. I’ve been on duty overnight so I haven’t seen the papers yet, but I take it you’re back on the court this season?”

“I am, yeah.”

“That’s an impressive recovery,” the older man says, nodding his approval.

“Well, obviously, I’ve got to perform to keep my place but I’ll be starting from game one.”

Peyton grabs his hand. _“Starting?”_ she asks, full of excitement. “When did you hear that?”  
“This morning. They’ve been checking out footage of those Savannah pick-up games. I guess they just needed to see it for themselves.”

“Nate! That’s awesome! Wait,” she stops, a puzzled look creeping over her face. “Footage of the Savannah games? How?”

“Our boy Jagielski,” Nathan chuckles. “I knew he filmed a bit on his phone, but apparently, he sent it in to the coach and told them they needed me back. He didn’t know I was _already_ back, but he got me one better; a starting place.”

“Well,” says the doctor, “it’s good to know my favourite team’s gonna be leading the league again this year. I need to move on, but I’ll see you later, Peyton.”

“Thank you so much,” she smiles.

“Thanks,” agrees Nathan, “and you can be sure I’ll make her behave herself for the next few days.”

“Nate, can I use your phone to call Brooke?” Peyton asks the second the doctor has gone.

“Sure, babe. But then you’re resting,” he adds in warning, making her roll her eyes at him.

Brooke picks up breathlessly, panic in her voice.

“Nate? Have you seen her? What’s happening? Is she okay? God … please tell me she’s okay.”

“B. Davis. Calm down. I’m fine.”

“P.? Oh, my God. It’s so good to hear your voice. What happened?”

“Someone ran a red. But it’s okay. _I’m_ okay. Bruised ribs. Sprained wrist. Mild concussion. I’ll stay in hospital tonight, just to be sure, then I can go home. Well, to Nathan’s for a few days, ‘cos I have to have someone with me just in case.”

“I’m coming back. I’ll look after you,” her friend rushes out.

“Brooke, no. You’ve got a killer schedule. And it’s important stuff. Hey look, I’m gonna pass you over to Nate and he can tell you the plan.”

Nathan reassures Brooke that he’s got it covered for the next few days, that he’ll keep Peyton under lock and key, and make sure she’s resting and fine, that Brooke can get through her meetings and presentations without worry, and that her original day of return, towards the end of the week will be perfect, that she can take over as head nurse when he heads to camp.

“Camp? What are you?” Brooke laughs. “A Boy Scout troop leader?”  
He laughs back, forgetting that the news he’s known for months, that he _and_ this gorgeous girl in the hospital bed have known for months, has just broken this morning and that he’s going to have to explain himself a lot over the next few days, especially to the heathens of this world that don’t read the sports pages.

“Pre-season training camp, Brooke,” he says easily, as if it’s no big deal. “I’m playing again. For the Bobcats.”

“Nathan Scott! Oh, my God that’s amazing!” Brooke squeals. “I’m so thrilled for you. Wait. Back up the bus, Hotshot. How long have you known?”

“Umm …”

“That means a long time! You sneak!”

“Contracts, Brooke. I had no choice.”

“Hmmm,” she says grumpily. “I bet you told my Peyton.”  
He chuckles at the Peyton rivalry that constantly rears its head when he and Brooke are talking. If she only knew; there just wasn’t a close contest at all.

“I could tell you that Davis, but then I’d have to kill you,” he jokes.

And he thinks about the last time he said those words, to Peyton, at the wedding. And it really wasn’t that long ago. But look where they are now. He wraps up the call with Brooke, puts his phone away and turns to Peyton. She’s watching him with those green eyes, and smiling madly. Maybe the pain’s making her a bit loopy?

“How’d that leaping feel?” she asks him.

“Leaping?”

“Back then … you just accepted that Lucas could help with Peyton-sitting,” she explains, though he’s honestly none the wiser.

“Yeah. So?”

“That’s the leap of faith I was waiting for,” she smiles, lacing her fingers into his. “You finally get it; that I’m not ever ...”

“Babe, you’re not exactly going to be in a fit state for hijinks with him and as dumbass as he’s been lately, I really don’t think he’d be dumb enough to try anything on when you’re recuperating!”

“Hijinks?”

“Hijinks. Alright, I get what you meant, now.  So …” he says, and she can see what’s coming right away, “this means we’re finally going public?” he continues with a broad grin.  
“Uh-huh, as soon as I’m recovered,” she agrees.

“And you need to be recovered, why?”

“’Cos if I’m not mistaken Brooke was just hassling you about keeping your playing news quiet and you’re contractually bound to do that! She is gonna _kick my ass_ for keeping _our_ news a secret for so long! I’m gonna need to be fighting fit to defend myself.”

“This is the best deal I’m gonna get, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

“Yup.”

“Deal then. As soon as you’re recovered.”

She tugs gently at his hand, looking up at him, her eyes shining.

“What?” he asks.

“Seal the deal, stud. Kiss me.”

He spends much of the afternoon on the phone doing some press and radio interviews, and trying to convince the Bobcats PR team that he can’t do any filmed interviews until he’s in Charlotte later in the week. They push hard for him to get to Charlotte immediately but he insists that he must remain in Tree Hill for another few days. They push back hard.

Eventually he tells them, as Peyton looks on, that his girlfriend has just been in a car accident and he’s not leaving her for the next few days.  Even as he says it he wonders what she’ll say when he gets off the phone.  She merely smiles and, in a very un-Peyton like gesture, throws him a wink then blows him a kiss.  He teases her that the accident must have knocked some sense into her, ‘cos it looks like being Nathan Scott’s _girlfriend_ sounds pretty damned good to her. She replies that she must have banged her head harder than the medical experts thought, and maybe they should seek a second opinion.

Much later that day, she’s reasonably comfortable in her room upstairs, and he’s surprisingly comfortable in the armchair, which he has pushed as close to the bed as he can. Now, he’s stretched out on the reclined chair, parallel to, but facing her, his hand in just the right spot to reach out and take hers.

“Still awake?” he asks, interlacing their fingers.

“Yeah. Just.”

“Then … can we talk?”

“As opposed to what we’ve been doing off and on all afternoon between you being Mr Media Star? Sure!”

“I mean … about us,” he suggests carefully.

“Well … sure,” she says, stifling a yawn.

“So, when I ran into Whitey at the cemetery a few weeks ago, he told me something. It kind of surprised me at first but now …” he trails off, watching their joined hands.

“Now?” she prompts quietly.

“Now I know it’s the truest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looks up to see her eyes fluttering.

“Is truest a word?” she asks slowly, battling the tiredness.

“I dunno. It is now.”

“I think the truest things are often a surprise,” she muses.

He smiles at that, rubbing his thumb over hers for several long moments. She usually responds to that with a squeeze and a contented sigh, but she doesn’t this time. In fact, her hand relaxes in his completely and he looks up to see her eyes closed and her breath evening out. He shakes his head wryly. Well, it probably wasn’t the right time, really.

“It _is_ the truest thing, Sawyer,” he murmurs quietly, careful not to wake her. “And it surprised the hell out of me. That after all of it, after _everything_ , I would fall completely in love with you. Again.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the car accident sees Nathan and Peyton edging closer to going public, but before they do, Lucas makes a declaration of his own.

**One Week later**

On the last day of her ‘house arrest’, as they’ve come to call it, Brooke arrives to take Peyton into the studio for a few hours. Nathan’s fought her on it, but given that he must head to Charlotte that night for his first pre-season training camp, which kicks off tomorrow, he knows damn well that she’ll just go later anyway. So, he gives in, making her swear she’ll not push it. He’s not at all sure he believes her promises. As Nathan departs for the Ravens practice, one of the first of the school year, but also probably the last one he’ll be able to get to for a while as his Bobcats schedule kicks in, he gives Brooke his customary peck on the cheek. Brooke looks after him, puzzling over something, then, when he’s gone, turns to her friend.

“What’s up with you and Nathan?” she asks pointedly.

“What? Nothing,” Peyton replies smoothly.

“Nope. Something’s up,” Brooke insists.

“Why do you say that?”

“He always does the peck on the cheek thing with both of us. The last few times I’ve seen you two together he hasn’t done it with you. Did you two have a fight?” she asks, her hands resting on her hips.

“No. It’s probably just that I’ve been here all week and we’ve been around each other nonstop.”

“Or you’ve been the worst patient ever and been a bitch to him,” Brooke suggests, her hands on her hips.

“Brooke!”

“I’m right. I know I am. You need to apologise! He’s really been there for you this week.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Maybe,” Peyton stammers, relieved she’s off the hook in terms of Brooke’s suspicion. She knows it’s close; the time when they’ll tell people, and she also knows Brooke should be one of the first, if not the very first, to be told. But not now. She really wants them to tell people together; her and Nathan side by side as they let their nearest and dearest know that they’re together and happy and … but she’d better make a note to let Nathan know Brooke’s noticed a change in the way he is around Peyton and tell him to watch it.

“So, you still want me to drop you at the studio? You sure you’re ready for this?” Brooke asks with concern.

“I am _sooo_ ready. What else have you got on today?”

“Just the usual at the store. Plus, I need to nip into the school and see the principal.”  
“How come?”

“ _I’m_ gonna do a ‘lecture’ to the art and design classes,” Brooke says, just a little proudly.

“Oooh. Look at you Miss Academic!” Peyton laughs then thinks of a way to get quickly get a message to Nathan without arousing Brooke’s suspicions. “Hey, why don’t we go now, to the school? You stop in and see the principal, I’ll stop in at practice and put things right with Nate, then you can drop me at the studio.”

“Perfect!” Brooke says, clapping her hands together as she does when a plan works out perfectly. “Can we stop for coffee on the way?”

“Sure. My treat. For being such a good bestie-girl to me.”

They stop at the coffee spot that, in the absence of Karen’s, has become their favourite and Peyton returns to the car with one tray of four coffees, and a single cup.

“What’s the deal, P? Are you supporting an Ethiopian fair trade coffee grower?”

“One for you; four for Nate, Skills, Luke and me,” Peyton explains, passing the tray to Brooke so that she can get into the car without spilling.

“Oh yeah. Typical P. Sawyer move,” Brooke says acerbically.

“What?”

“Trying to keep all the sexy boys for yourself!” her friend teases.

“Oh, no no no!” Peyton protests. “That is a _B. Davis_ move if ever there was one. Do you not remember the shitty deal you gave me on that closet door list?”

“Yeah. I kinda did,” Brooke admits with a nostalgic smile.

“Kinda?” Peyton says with an eyebrow quirked. “You gave me the _married guy_ , the _left town never coming back guy_ , the _girl_ and freaking _Dan_!”  
“Alright. I totally _screwed_ you on that list,” Brooke concedes with a shrug and a ‘what are you gonna do’ chuckle.

“Bitch,” Peyton laughs.

“Shrew,” Brooke retorts.

“Strumpet.”

“Strumpet? That’s a new one. Hmmm. Nope. Got nothing that cute. I’ll just have to stick with whore.”

“I love you, B. Davis.”

“Are you propositioning me P. Sawyer? ‘Cos it takes more than a takeaway coffee to get into my pants, you know.”

“These days, anyway,” Peyton says drily, earning a mock outraged frown then a giggle from Brooke. “I’m just grateful that you’ve busted me out of that house,” Peyton continues. “This is my first foray outside in a whole week, remember.”

She walks into the gym with the tray of coffees. Nathan, Lucas and Skills are on the sideline, in typical coach pose, with arms folded over their chests and feet planted wide. There are a few cat calls and comments as Peyton walks towards the guys, but Skills yells at them all to shut their trashy mouths and show a little respect.

“Mmm,” she laughs as she gets close enough to the three guys, “the smell of teenage testosterone. Skins and shirts huh? Takes me right back.”

She passes a coffee to Luke, who murmurs a polite but begrudging sounding thank you. He’s not impressed that his Peyton-sitting services have been requested only once this week. And she slept almost the whole time.  Which gave him plenty of time to watch her. Too much time. He’s been very ... unsettled this week. Even more so than usual. It was the deal he made with himself; the days were for his wife, his family, his friends. _She_ was supposed to be relegated to the nights; not sneaking into his head during daylight hours. Not …

“You’re welcome, 22,” she says calmly before turning to Skills.

“3?”

Skills grins and kisses her on the cheek as he takes the cup from the tray. “Cheers, Skinny Girl. You should bring coffee to practice more often, ‘specially if you look like that, all recovered and fine as.”

And a coffee to Nathan. “23.”

“How did you get here?” he asks, instantly suspicious. “You’re not supposed to be driving on those pain meds.”

“I know that, _Doctor_ Scott. I’m with Brooke.” He looks around exaggeratedly then back at her.

“Well, she’s not here,” he argues.

“She needed to see the principal about some lecture thing she’s doing. I’m meeting her back at her car soon then she’s dropping me at the studio.”

“I’m still not convinced about you going back to work, even for a few hours.”

“The doctor said a week. It’s been a week. I need to get back into it,” she insists.

“You need to take it easy. I know you’ve been sneaking work in when I’m not around. You’re not that behind.”

“I _will_ take it easy, Nathan.”

“You absolutely will,” he agrees smugly. “Because I’m picking you up at 1 and taking you home.”

“3?” she counters, with that pleading tone and look.

“2. Final offer. And no work after that.”

“Alright, bossy boots.” She turns to Lucas. “Your team’s looking good, Coach.”

“They are. You need something, Peyt?” he asks a little shortly.

She frowns a little at the shortening of her name, but decides to let it go.

“Actually, I’m hoping that, with the coffee bribe and all, I can steal Nathan ... just for a few minutes. Five tops.”

“Sure,” Lucas shrugs. “It’s not like he’s paid to be here.”

Nathan raises his eyebrow in question, but Peyton gestures towards the door and starts to walk away. He follows. She stops just inside the door, figuring that to drag him outside will raise too many questions for him when he gets back.

“What’s up?” he asks, wondering what all the subterfuge is about.

“Brooke thinks we’ve had a fight, so I’m pretending to apologise,” she explains.

“Why would she think that?” he asks as he takes a sip of the coffee.

“’Cos you’ve stopped doing the peck on the cheek thing with me. She noticed. Thinks I’ve been a bitch to you while recovering and that you’re mad at me. So, you’re gonna have to start doing that stuff, the best friend pecks and stuff, again.”

He rubs his hand over his face, looking reluctant.

“What? It’s so hard to give me a little peck on the cheek?” she asks pointedly.

“At the moment?” he asks, a little pitchy. “Hell, yes.”

“Why? Oh ... I really _have_ been a bitch, haven’t I?”

“A bit, yeah,” he concedes. “But that’s not why.”

She waits for him to continue.

“You’re recovering!” he says as if it’s obvious. “You’re still sore.” He looks over his shoulder briefly, lowers his voice. “And we’re not ... we haven’t …”

“You can’t kiss me on the cheek because you’re _horny_?” she asks, a little gob smacked, as she realizes what he’s getting at. “Seriously?”

“You underestimate the effect you have on me, Sawyer.”

She laughs as his cheeks redden a little.

“Oh, I am _serious_ , girl,” he says with an intense edge.

“Well, we’re standing here right now and you seem to be under control,” she giggles.

“Yeah. But there’s two, three feet between us ... and already in my head, your back is against that wall, your hands are in my hair doing ... that thing you do. Your legs are around my waist and my mouth is all over your collarbone, and your neck, and my tongue is in your ear and I’m not even gonna tell you what our hips are doing, but trust me, you’re moaning my name over and over and ...”

She holds her hand up, palm out, to stop him and takes a step back, leaning against the wall, the bottom of one sneakered foot against it.

“And see,” he continues, pointing, “standing like _that_ does not help one little bit.”

She looks down, confused. “Like what?”

“Exactly how you used to stand when you waited for me after games,” he says, making her smile despite herself.

“Well, Brooke knows something is up,” she says with an admonishing pointed finger. “So, you need to deal.”

“Why? We’re going public anyway,” he counters.

“Not like _that_. Not by Brooke interrogating me ‘cos she thinks you and I are on the outs.”

“Alright. But we have to tell …”

“I know. Soon. Really soon.”

He takes a step forward and pecks her very quickly on the cheek, at which she raises an eyebrow.

“Practice,” he grins, winking and taking one step back. She shakes her head smiling; he’s incorrigible.

“Legs around my waist, babe,” he utters in a low tone, with eyebrows arched.

“Evil,” she mutters, “pure evil.”

He laughs and backs away from her, mouthing his own name at her. She laughs loudly, winks, turns and walks, swinging her hips suggestively at him. He rolls his eyes at her meanness and heads back to Luke and Skills.

“What was that about?” his brother demands.

“Oh, just something about Brooke.”

“Why the kiss?”

“What? Peck on the cheek? Do that all the time with Sawyer … and Davis.”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Lucas argues.

“That’s ‘cos you haven’t been around with us. Too busy doing all that _newlywed_ stuff.”

Lucas scoffs at him but Nathan’s really had enough of this condescending, possessive attitude from his brother, who simply has no right to question either him, or Peyton.

“Geeze, Luke. It was just a ‘thanks for the coffee’ peck. Skills did it too. What’s your deal?”

“Ah yeah,” chips in Skills, “but I _did_ have an ulterior motive!”

Nathan grins. “You still got that little man crush there, Skills?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Skills says. “ _I’m_ single. _She’s_ single. Maybe it’s time for me to introduce Miss Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer to the delights of Mr Antwon Skills Taylor, Esquire.”

Luke frowns. “You were _introduced_ years ago, Skills. She’s not gonna …”

“Nah. Listen, man, this could work,” Skills enthuses. “We both love our tunes. That girl has got some _serious_ moves on the dance floor, as do I. This is how it goes; I take her out dancing. Girls love to go out dancing. Bond over a little bumping and grinding … treat her like the fab-u-lous lady she is …”

Luke puts his hands up in that ‘stop I can’t hear this’ gesture of his. “This is just wrong,” he mutters.

Nathan shakes his head at Luke’s comment. “Nice plan, Skills, and Luke’s motives might be totally messed up,” at which his brother shoots him a death glare, “but he’s right; she’s not gonna go for you, dude. You’re too short for a start.”

“Height don’t matter when you’re horizontal, man,” Skills argues. “Sexy girl like P. Sawyer? She’s got needs.”

“Say what?” Luke asks, aghast.

Nathan’s amused, or would be if his dumbass brother wasn’t _married_ , and if he hadn’t had way too many chances to get it right with the green eyed subject of this discussion. He thinks about taking Skills to task over what he’s saying, but the thing is, Skills has been great to Peyton. He picked up on the Lindsey and Haley stuff months ago and kept a careful eye on her. He spent time with her. He supported her. And, when it comes down to it, Skills might talk the talk a bit, but when it comes to the way he treats women, he’s kind of an old-school gentleman.  His admiration of Peyton is entirely genuine.  Skills might even have had a shot, Nathan thinks, if it wasn’t for … well, _him._

“I’m just sayin’,” continues Skills, “I would have no objection to assisting Skinny Girl with her _needs_. Little bit of skills _from_ Skills and she’ll be all head over heels and we’ll run off into the sunset and make lots of beautiful coffee coloured babies.”

“Right. You’re going from a peck on the cheek to babies?” Nathan laughs.

“Nate. Nate. Nate. C’mon, dude. That girl smells _insanely_ good all the time. _That’s_ why I did the cheek smooch.”

“You being all pervy, Skills? Sniffing pretty girls?”

“Just P. Sawyer. Man … _that girl._ She always did smell like my grandma’s vanilla cookies. Real good. But just lately … mmm mmm … there’s like this little summit extra. Little bit of spice. So, _so_ good.”

“I think she just changed her shampoo … and lotion … or whatever goop it is girls use,” Nathan supplies absent mindedly as he watches a maneuver on the court.

“What?” interjects Luke. “She changed her shampoo?” He’s aggravated, bizarrely so.

“Luke? What the hell?”

“Why would she do that? She’s used the same shampoo since high school. She _loved_ that shampoo.”

“Well I don’t know, Lucas,” Nathan says impatiently. “Maybe the ‘brand’,” he makes airquotes around that, “she _used_ to use in _high school_ is no longer _on the market_ and she had to get a _new brand_.” The subtext and his meaning are clear, and Lucas glares at him.

Nathan shakes his head again. This is getting ridiculous. “Skills. Nice plan, man, but I gotta tell ya, Sawyer won’t go for it.”

“You think she won’t go for me ‘cos I’m black?” Skills pouts.  
“Dude, have you not see her brother? That girl doesn’t have a racist bone in her body and you know it.”

Nathan blows his whistle and yells to the guys. “Skins! Far end. Defense drills.” He turns back to Skills. “Nope. You’re right about a sexy girl like Sawyer having needs. But, trust me man, her needs are already being well and truly taken care of.” He turns on his sneakered heel and heads towards the ‘skins’.

Lucas glares after his brother, blows his whistle and yells. “Shirts. Other end. Free throws. Now.”

Skills is left standing, alone and puzzled. “What the hell just happened?” he mutters.

Nathan arrives at RBR on the dot of two, stands over Peyton until she shuts down her computer, insists she leaves her laptop in the office and makes her turn off the new phone he got for her during the week, and which he’s already regretting. She mutters constantly about being treated like a five-year-old. He responds that if that’s what it takes, that’s what he’ll do. Her retort is that she’s glad he’s leaving that night. His, as they’re walking out to the carpark, is that he has spies in place and he won’t compromise on her health, but he knows she’ll miss him really, and he has a little surprise that will help her cope with the Nathan-sized gap in her life over the next few days.

“I’m not so keen on surprises, Scott,” she says darkly. “You know that.”

“You’ll like this one.”

He leads her out on to the street, and walks, stopping a few cars down the road then takes her hand, turns it over and drops some car keys into her palm. It’s then that she notices what they’re standing next to.

“Nate!” she says excitedly. “It’s the same model car as the one we drove on our road trip!”

“It’s _the_ car we drove on our road trip,” he confirms with a broad smile.

“You did _not_ buy me a car!” she exclaims.

“Damn straight I did not buy you a car! You think I’m made of money?”  
“Well ... Mr NBA. You kinda are!” she retorts, laughing in delight while she admires the car. “But ... what’s the deal?”

“Three-month lease. Thought it would give you time to make some decisions.”

“About … _cars_?” she asks, eyebrow raised and a cheeky smile twitching at her lips.

“Sure,” he says, eyes twinkling in recognition at the sub-text. “About … _cars_.”

“And after three months?” she asks coyly.

“You could renew the lease for another short term. Or … you could take a longer lease. Or … you could even buy, if it works out well - for you _and_ for the car. No pressure. Time to think. Just … giving you options.”

“And we’re still talking about cars?”

“What else would we be talking about, Sawyer?” he teases, putting his arm around her shoulder. They stand there looking at the car for a few moments, each dwelling on that crazy metaphor. “She is a damn good car, though,” he says. “Classic but with an edge, runs beautifully, _so_ good looking, sexy as hell.”

She laughs and ducks her head onto his shoulder for a moment. She knows his compliments are meant not just for the car, but for her too. “Thank you. This is amazing.”

“Well, you know what they say; sweets for the sweet …”

“Aww. Are you saying I’m amazing, Nathan Scott?”

“I believe what I was saying was that you’re classic, a little edgy, good looking and sexy and that you run well. But,” he shrugs lightly, “I guess amazing will do.”

“It’s a shame you’re leaving tonight, you know,” she muses.

“Right. Two minutes ago, you were glad I’m going and now it’s a shame. Why’s that?”

“Tomorrow I should get the all clear from the doctor to resume normal … activities. But _oh no_!” she says, mock horror on her face, palms at her cheeks. “You’ll be gone!”

“I take it all back,” he grumbles. “You’re not amazing. You’re an evil bitch.”

“Aww honey,” she says sweetly, patting his arm.  
“Ha!”

“What?”

 _“Honey?”_ he repeats, gesturing towards his own chest.

“Figure of speech.”

“Figure of speech, my ass.”

She steps back and makes a show of checking him out.

“Well ... it _is_ a good ass,” she laughs. “C’mon, Hotshot, let’s get this baby back to your place. I want to spend this afternoon with you before you take off to check out all those Bobcats cheerleaders.”

 

 

They’ve been hanging out, doing not much of anything for a couple of hours when the front door of the beach house opens, and Lucas walks in.

“Hey, Nathan? You here? Oh, hey … um … hi, Peyton,” Lucas mumbles as he rounds the corner and spots her unexpected presence. “Whose is the convertible outside?” he continues, before Nathan, whose looking at him in a less than friendly manner, can speak. “It’s gorgeous.”

Peyton picks up the keys from the coffee table and jingles them. “It’s mine!”

“You got a new car?” he asks, looking highly surprised.

“Nope. Nate got it for me.”

“What? He … bought you ...?”

“Three-month lease,” she says, “so that I can think about what to do about a car long term. Cool huh? In fact, I’m gonna go take another look at my baby right now.”

All three of them head out to the driveway, and stand admiring the vehicle for a few minutes. Just as Nathan’s about to ask his brother why he’s here, the visitor speaks up.

“So,” starts Lucas, with a peculiar tone to his voice, “speaking of cars … I’ve just been to the wrecker’s yard to take a look at the Comet.”

“Why would you do that?” she asks, hands on her hips and frowning. She’s a bit pissed, actually. It’s none of his concern.

“Don’t you want to know what sort of shape it’s in?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” she says after a moment, “no.”

“But, Peyton, it’s the Comet.”

“Yeah. It’s the Comet. And it’s a wreck,” she shrugs dismissively.

“Well … the thing is, I think I can restore it,” he says. “It’ll take a while but …”

“I don’t want it restored, Lucas,” she interrupts him, shaking her head.

“But … that car? It’s … _you._ It’s …”

“No. It was my Mom. I loved it because it was my Mom’s but I know I have her in my heart. I don’t need the car to remember her,” Peyton says confidently, knowing in her heart that it’s true.

“Can we talk about this?” Lucas pleads, shooting an awkward look at Nathan.

“What are we doing now?” she asks.

Lucas looks at Nathan again and she realizes he wants to speak to her alone. “Lucas, if you have something to say about an old, beaten up car, you can say it in front of your brother.”

“The Comet’s more than your Mom, Peyton. It’s _you_. It’s …”

“What? It’s _what_ , Lucas?” she asks, annoyed at his assumptions that this is anything to do with him.

“It’s _us_! Alright!? It’s _us_!” he exclaims, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Hmmm,” she says, her finger against her chin. “It used to be great, but it’s increasingly unreliable. In fact, recently it’s been completely unpredictable and has broken down _all_ the time. And now it’s a wreck. You know? You’re _right_ , Lucas. It _is_ us!”

“I can fix it, Peyton. I know I can,” he pleads.

“I don’t want the Comet back, Lucas,” she warns. “I’ve accepted that it’s gone. I have a new car now, and I love the new car.”

“ _I_ don’t accept it’s gone. I can fix it,” he protests.

“Look. You could take it to a panel shop, beat it into shape, stick some bright, shiny new chrome on it, even drop a new engine into it, but the thing is … I don’t want it back. And I have to say, I don’t think Lindsey would appreciate you spending all that time on the Comet either.”

“I wasn’t talking just about the car,” he sighs in resignation.

“Yeah. I know.”

He didn’t realise he’d said that aloud. Dammit. But now Lucas looks at her intensely, his heart in his mouth, and waits for her to continue.

“Listen, Lucas. You’re not the only one that was in AP English. I understand metaphor,” she says. “You think the Comet represents us. Well, you can’t save us. It doesn’t matter that a long time ago I thought we’d make beautiful babies in the back seat of that car. You married Lindsey. You’ll have beautiful babies with Lindsey. And that’s good. In fact, that’s great. Now _those_ kids? They’ll _really_ rock AP English.”

“I don’t _want_ Lindsey to be the mother of my children!” he declares, completely frustrated, his hands reaching out to her to underline his statement.

“Well then you have a problem, I guess,” she answers, unruffled. “I don’t think Lindsey will be very happy if you do that with someone else.”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“No. I’m not,” she fights back. “Your _words_? They always got me into trouble with their double meanings and lack of clarity. If you have something to say, you need to say it so that your meaning is without doubt.”

“Okay. Fair enough. Clarity,” he mutters, before he looks her straight in the eye. “ _You_. It’s _you._ _You’re_ supposed to be the mother of my children, not Lindsey.”

And there it is. The public admission, after months of hiding, months of denial, that Lucas Eugene Scott made a massive mistake when he said _I do_ to Lindsey Evelyn Strauss. And he feels like the weight of the world has just been lifted off his shoulders. Peyton though, seems remarkably unmoved.

“Where _is_ Lindsey?” she asks curiously, the thought suddenly having occurred to her.

“New York.”

“Oh great!” she says sarcastically. “Your wife is out of town and you want me to have your children. What sort of _‘Big Love’_ scenario is that?”

“No! I mean I’ll end it. I’ll end my marriage if …”

“No!” she yells, interrupting him. “Do _not_ finish that sentence. Do _not_ put that on me!”

“God!” he says as he realizes how that sounded to her. “Yes. You’re right. I have to end it first. Not make you the other woman again. I’ll end it. Then we can …”

“No!” she exclaims again. “That’s _not_ what I meant. Do _not_ leave Lindsey for me, Lucas. There _is_ no us.”

“But I can fix it all; the Comet, us.”

“Lucas. Stop. Please. Listen to me,” she says calmly, strongly. “I have a new car. And I _love_ my new car. There _is_ no us, Lucas. I have a new …”

She stops suddenly, looks at Nathan with a quizzical look, at the car, at Lucas, then across to Nathan again.

“Oh my God,” she breathes out with a stunned look on her face. She takes another look at Nathan, who, standing hands on his hips, is watching her face closely, as that bemused expression on her beautiful features slowly morphs into deep comprehension.

“I love my new car,” she repeats quietly, reverently. “Lucas, are we clear here? _No_ Comet. _No_ us. Because … I _love_ my new car.”

She throws her hands up in the air, turns on her heel and walks inside without looking back, leaving Lucas turning to his brother with a very puzzled look on his face.

“Clear? What the hell was that?” he asks in confusion.

“She loves her new car, man,” replies Nathan with a satisfied grin.

“What?”

“Bro’, you’re the one that started the whole car/relationship metaphor,” Nathan chuckles. “Don’t be so slow.”

“She … she’s seeing someone?” Lucas asks as it dawns on him what this means.

“She is. Have to say … I kinda thought you might have got that from that little _shampoo metaphor_ this morning. Why exactly _were_ you in AP English?”

“How … how long?” Lucas asks breathlessly, making Nathan feel a little sorry for him. But only a little.

“The guy? Soon after the wedding.”

“So, it’s a rebound?” Lucas suggests hopefully.

“No.”

“Right after the wedding?” Lucas repeats. “Sure sounds like a rebound to me.”

“Except that you two hadn’t been a couple for more than four years by the time you got _married_ ,” Nathan points out.  “And she was with someone else for more than a year in between. It’s not a rebound.”

“You knew. You didn’t tell me,” the blond accuses.

“Seriously? What would that conversation have been? ‘Hi Luke. Sorry to interrupt your _honeymoon_ with _Lindsey_ , your w _ife_ , but I thought you’d like to know Sawyer is seeing someone. Even though you’ve just declared in front of us all that _Lindsey_ is _the one_ , and you’ve given _Lindsey_ your heart, I just … had a feeling that you should know your ex, who you haven’t actually been with in years, and who you’ve been a prize dick to by the way, has a new bed fellow.’”

“She’s _sleeping_ with him?” Lucas gasps out.

“Oh, my God, of course _that’s_ the bit you’d pick up on from all of that. We’re all grownups, of course she’s … Luke?” Nathan steps forward, grasping his brother’s shoulder and pushing him down. “Put your head down, man; you look like you’re gonna throw up.”

Lucas groans, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, growing greener looking by the second.

“Oh God,” he moans desperately. “I have _really_ fucked this up, haven’t I?”

“Yup.”

“Is there _any_ way I can ...?”

Nathan considers his brother and makes the instant decision that this is _not_ the moment to confess all.

“You could try, I guess,” he replies, “if you really want to get shot down again. But I’m telling you now; you will not _hassle_ her or _berate_ her or _hurt_ her. And honestly Luke? If you _do_ love her, the best thing you can do is let her be happy. She did that for you. And don’t you think you’ve hurt her enough? _More_ than enough? Over far too long. It has to stop.”

“You’ve met the guy?” Lucas asks, turning his head to look sideways at his sibling.

“I know him,” Nathan replies, arms folded across his broad chest.

“Is he a good guy?”

Nathan laughs. “He’s a freaking awesome guy.”

“He’s ... good enough? For her?” Lucas presses on.

“I’m not sure _anyone_ is good enough for Sawyer,” Nathan replies honestly. “But I do know he loves her. He is completely in love with her and he’ll do whatever it takes to be in the ballpark of good enough for her.”

Lucas nods, then mutters again, something Nathan thinks he can’t possibly have heard right.

“What did you say?”

“I said this whole sorry mess could be seen as your fault,” Lucas repeats.

“How the hell do you figure that?” Nathan asks, more than a little concerned that Lucas has figured out that _the guy_ is in fact him, but he hedges and waits, prepared to take him on over it if he must.

“If you’d just gone to pick her up when her car broke down on River Road that day …”

“That day? Like ... you mean that day back in _Junior year_?” Nathan asks incredulously.

“Yeah. I’d never have talked to her if you’d just gotten your head out of your ass and picked her up. This whole damn mess …”  
“Maybe so,” Nathan chuckles, “but I wouldn’t take it back.”

“No? Why?”  
“I can’t regret any of it, Luke. Not Sawyer dumping my sorry ass, because it meant we became different; friends, and so much more than just a high school on off hot cold thing. And not Haley, even after everything. And … I’ve got to the point where I just think everything gets us to where we’re supposed to be.”

“Who are you?” Lucas asks, half laughing, half in shock still. “Yoda?”

“Yeah, but a good looking sexy version that’s more than two feet tall,” Nathan laughs.

“I wish I could believe that, Nathan; getting to where we’re supposed to be, I mean, not that sexy little green guy with big ears and a light sabre thing … but where I am feels _so far_ from where I’m supposed to be.”

“Look Luke, I can’t tell you what to do about Lindsey. But it seems to me you’ve got until she gets back … a few days … to get your head straight. Decide to commit to your marriage, or decide to end it. Make a decision and live it. And accept that Sawyer is _not_ part of the decision. Look. I need to get going, I’ve got some … um … stuff … to take care to. Go. Think. Give me a call if you need me. I’m out of here tonight for nearly a week, for camp, but I can take calls in the evenings.”

Nathan heads into the house, thinking about that day years ago … the day he got the call from her, asking him to pick her up on River Road. When he sees her, leaning over the kitchen counter, her head over the sink, he thinks they’ve come so, so far … and yet he also feels they’re still true to the kids they were. He leans in the doorway and watches her for a while. She’s oblivious, her head somewhere else completely.

“Hey,” he says gently.

She turns around and takes in his smug look. “Hey.”

“You love your car,” he states evenly.

“I do.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Nathan. You got that ...”

“Sawyer, I may not have been in AP English with all you smartypants kids, but I got the metaphor, trust me.”

“So … anything you’d like to …?”  
“C’mere,” he instructs gently, cocking his head to the side.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” she says drily.

“Sawyer. Come over here,” he asks again.

She throws her hands up and puts on her ‘why’ face.

“I’m not doing this with you on the other side of the room,” he explains cryptically.

“Oh great!” she sighs. “That sounds … promising.”

“Peyton! Will you just … think about the last few months. Have I put a foot wrong?”

“What’s that …?”  
“Have I?” he presses urgently.

She thinks about that; right back to that first kiss in Greenville. Even then, he left her space; left an actual, physical escape route. And she doesn’t have any idea if _that_ action right _then_ was considered and deliberate, or just that he _knew_ her and instinctively did what was right for her. And she realizes that it really doesn’t matter. Either way, he gave her what she needed right from their first kiss. Their second first kiss.

“No. You haven’t put a foot wrong,” she concurs.

“Every step of the way, I’ve given you space. I’ve asked the questions, but I’ve given you space. No pressure. No pushing. But also, no guessing games. I told you I didn’t want to stop. I told you it wasn’t just sex. I told you no one else. I told you I wanted to go public. I’ve made it clear where I stood, right?”

She nods, her eyes closed against the intensity of his voice, his look, his stance.

“And now I’m asking _you_ to come and stand over here,” he repeats.

She crosses the room as if drawn by a magnet, unable to take her eyes off him, and, when she stops in front of him still looking a little uncertain, he takes her hands, puts them on his chest and drops his to her hips.

“So, tell me, girl,” he says gently. “ _Tell_ me.”

“You’re going to stand there and make me say it?”

“ _First,”_ he says gently. “I’m going to make you say it _first_. Because _I_ am sure. But there is a lot at stake and I need to know that you are as sure as I am. But I promise that you will _never_ have to say it first again, unless you want to, which you will, because I _know_ you and I know that once you’re in, you don’t hold back.”

She swallows, her eyelashes sweeping her cheek, then looks up, meeting his eyes.

“Hey,” he encourages her, his palms squeezing her hips a little, “leap of faith, right?”

And that’s all it takes; that’s enough to make her relax, even as her eyes grow glassy and threaten to overflow.

“God Nathan, I am _so_ in love with you that it’s…”

He cuts her off with the sweetest tasting kiss she’s ever had. “I know,” he replies, “and I am _so_ in love with you that it’s ...”

She mimics his move, kissing him to cut him off. “When did you …?”

“I didn’t recognize it at the time, but honestly? Probably when you picked me up from the airport.”

“That’s …” she trails off, completely in awe.

“Weeks and weeks ago. Like I said. Gave you space.”

“Do something for me?” she asks as he moves her hands to lock together behind his neck.

“Anything,” he says firmly.

“Stop giving me space. And start kissing me again.”

 

 

A week later, she gets a call from him telling her he’s back from his first stint at camp and asking her to come pick him up and, thinking he’s at the airport, she agrees. She heads out, and is confused a few minutes later, when she gets a text from him telling her to detour through River Rd.

She’s totally confused but does as he asks and, when she sees his Range Rover on the side of the road with both the hood up and the rear door open, she laughs herself silly.

“Now that’s irony,” she yells out, still laughing, as she rounds the car. When she finally sees him, she pulls up fast. He’s nonchalantly sitting in the back of the Range Rover, with a small picnic basket in front of him and a half bottle of wine open next to two plastic wine glasses.

“What …?” she asks, as he pulls her between his legs.

“Someone reminded me recently about that day,” he tells her, his hands at her hips, and his thumbs sweeping over her hip bones. “When you called me, and asked me to pick you up _right here_ ‘cos the Comet broke down.”  
“And by someone, you mean your brother,” she says, draping her wrists over his shoulders.  
“Yup,” he nods. “And I told him I could never regret that because I could never regret you dumping me so that I got my crap together, or regret Haley ‘cos it all got me to where I am now.”  
“Right,” she says with a questioning raised eyebrow. “And you want to tell me it was a great move on my part to dump your sorry ass, _why_?”  
“Because while all that I said to Lucas is true, what I want to tell _you_ , is that the best part, the _very_ best part, of where I am now, is that you’re here with me.”  
“Nathan …”  
“And I will _never_ not be there for you again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers.  
“Stop crying, Sawyer.”

“Happy tears?”

“I think you need a wine.”  
“I think you might be right. But will you kiss me first?”

“Man, you ask me to kiss you a lot,” he teases her.  
“I know,” she says, moving a hand to jab him lightly in the pec. “And frankly, Scott, it’s outrageous that I should even have to ask!”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The charity basketball game draws even closer, as do Nathan and Peyton, despite the ex Mrs Scott coming back to town,

**Monday, A Week Later**

She’s ready for work and pops into the bedroom to say goodbye to Nathan. He’s not there. Then she hears his voice coming from the ensuite bathroom. She thinks he’s singing, or maybe rapping, well, _trying_ to rap, at first, and tiptoes to the doorway to listen in. He has an utterly terrible singing voice and despite his musical preferences, he’s an even worse rapper, but she still loves it when, on the odd occasion, she catches him unawares. He’s not singing. He’s in front on the mirror, towel tucked around his hips, just finished shaving, talking to himself.

“I need to tell you … no ... you need to know … I want you to know there’s … I’m seeing someone else … I’ve _been_ seeing someone new ... I need … I need to tell you I’ve been seeing someone.”

“I’d go with that one,” she says abruptly, turning on her heel and leaving the bedroom. He shakes his head, puzzled for a moment, then realises what she’s probably thinking and runs after her.

“Babe, it’s not …”

She’s already halfway down the stairs when he catches her.

“Peyton. Stop!”

She spins on the stairs and wobbles, her hands flailing. He can see it happening in an instant, her tumbling back, hitting the ground hard, and his heart almost stops. But he’s fast, thank God, faster than gravity in this case. And he’s got her, grabbing her arm with one hand while the other hauls her forward and into him. Her heart’s hammering and neither of them really know if that’s due to the almost fall or what she overhead.

“It isn’t what you think,” he says once she’s steady.

“Well, it sounded an awful lot like you’ve been seeing someone new ... or someone else … and you were figuring out how to tell me.”

“No.”

“Then what was that? You _have_ been but you’re stopping now that we’re ... whatever?”

“Don’t ‘whatever’ us, Sawyer.”

“Right. Now that we’re going public and leading with the stunning news that we’re going to be living together, and we did the I love yous, you …”

“No!” he yells. “It’s Haley.”

“Oh great! So not someone new, then. Just your wife, the love of your life.”

“What the _fuck_? No!” he yells at her. “Stop. Just _stop_ and listen to me.”

She’s quiet. Waiting. He can actually _see_ her talking herself into giving him the benefit of the doubt. He wonders, quickly, if that should bother him, that she needs to talk herself into it. But he decides the fact that she is, and wants to, is what matters.

“Well?” she demands.

“Haley called me yesterday. She’s coming into town today,” he explains. “She wants to meet me for a coffee. She said she needs to tell me something and it’s important. I was trying to work out how to tell _her_ I’m seeing _you_ … well ... not you. I mean I won’t tell her it’s you, unless that’s okay with you ... but how to tell her that I’m not single.”

“Okay,” she says after taking in a very deep breath, holding it and exhaling harshly.

“Okay?”

“Honestly? I ... don’t know. She’s Haley. The girl that tamed Nathan Scott.”

“She’s _not_ my wife,” he says, remembering what Peyton said a couple of minutes ago. “She’s my ex-wife. She’s _not_ the love of my life. Yeah, maybe once upon a time I thought that. But she’s not and honestly? Now I don’t think that she ever was.”

“Okay.”

“Stop with the okay. It’s a coffee and a chat. It probably won’t even come up but I just thought I should be prepared. In case.”

“In case she declares her undying love and jumps you?” It’s her trademark humour; a smidgen aggressive when she’s feeling a bit insecure, but the spark is back and she’s lightening up.

“Well … you know … I’m pretty jumpable,” he smirks with an accompanying shrug.

“So they say.”

“But?”

She exhales abruptly. “They can say what they damned well like, Nathan Scott. You’re _mine_. You said so.”

“Well, to be perfectly accurate,” he smirks at her, “I think I said _you_ are _mine_.”

“To-may-to, to-mar-to,” she tells him. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I guess I still have a bit of work to do on that ‘just when I get happy it all blows up in my face’ thing.”

“It’s just a coffee. You can trust me,” he assures her, taking her shoulders in his large hands.

“I know,” she nods. “I believe I told you once before that I trust you more now than I did then.”

“Yeah but we _were_ in the middle of hot almost in public sex when you said that. You ... can I just say you _really did_ look a bit freaked out just then.”

“No. You can’t say that.”

“You were though. Because … you don’t want this to end, do you?”

“Wasn’t that the whole point of the real couple, shacking up, ‘mine’, so in love with you stuff?” she says with a twinkle in her green eyes.

“Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, you are _totally_ in this!” he crows, jabbing his finger into her shoulder a little.

“I just want to hang around ‘til I get the cocktail dress you owe me,” she shrugs.

“I just want to see you in that cocktail dress,” he quips. “Then see you _out_ of that cocktail dress.”

“ _That_ might depend on how nice the hotel room is, buster. But you never know your luck in the big city.”

“Do I get any say in the dress?” he asks her, pulling her closer and kissing the corner of her mouth.

“Nope. But I’m going shopping for it today ... so hand over your credit card, Hotshot.”

“Yeah. ‘Cos I always carry a credit card tucked into my bath towel.”

“Then go fetch,” she instructs, twisting out of his arms.

“What am I?” he pouts. “Your pet puppy?”

“You’re less obedient than my pet puppy would be.”

“If I’m your puppy that makes you my mistress,” he says with a devilish smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“I’d better bloody well not be!”

He heads to the kitchen counter, takes the plastic card out of his wallet and hands it to her.

“Can I at least request short?” he asks, drawing her closer to him again, resting his hands on her ass, pressing her hips into his a little.

“Cocktail dresses are, by definition, short,” she flirts back, drawing a fingertip down his bare chest.

“I mean short short … mmm, and maybe low cut or tight too,” he adds, leaning back to look appreciatively at her. “Or all three.”

“Because you want two teams of pro ball players and associated hangers on to appreciate my legs, ass and boobs … or _all three_ … as much as you do?”

“Actually, on second thoughts, I’m thinking ankle length would be just perfect, babe. And maybe sort of loose and swishy?” he teases. “Like … a tent?”

“I have to go to work. Kiss me, you idiot.”

He obliges, and is then outraged when, as she turns to walk away, she whips his towel off him and throws it back at him.  Well, he pretends to be outraged any way. Maybe the fact that she then pauses, looks him over slowly from head to foot and he can see she’s having to talk herself into leaving the room, prevents him from being _too_ outraged.

She’s pleased, later that morning, that she overheard Nathan in the bathroom because otherwise she’d have been completely unable to string two words together when Haley turns up at the studio, bearing coffees, a cautious little smile and making a slightly nervous quip about taking a little longer than she intended to return the favour of a coffee to Peyton.

“Haley James,” Peyton says, shaking her head as she comes out from behind her desk, “you are a sight for sore eyes, Foxy. You look amazing.”

And she does. The petite ex Mrs Scott has a sleek hair cut with gorgeous auburn tints through it, is looking fit and trim, and is dressed head to toe in, of course, B. Davis.

Peyton embraces Haley, wondering why it doesn’t feel weird, when maybe it should, before shaking that thought away. There’s no room for guilt here. Haley ended her marriage to Nathan. Haley’s moved on. And Haley is clearly regretting nothing. There’s a sparkle in her eye and a skip in her step.

“You too, Girly. You look … wow …” Haley says, taking Peyton’s hands and hold her arms out wide to admire her friend’s funky outfit. “Peyton Sawyer, you’re always gorgeous, but I haven’t seen you looking this _well_ , and … and … this _happy_ for a long, long time. What’s up, Not-So-Blondie?”

“Come sit,” Peyton invites, “or are you in a rush?”

“Nope. Just meeting Nathan later on for a coffee, but nothing else to do right now.”  
“Yeah, he mentioned that.”  
“Aaah …”  
Peyton takes a breath and sips her coffee as a momentary cover. She’s sure there was nothing in her tone to give anything away, so what does Haley mean? She can’t have guessed from that. And Peyton’s determined that it’s Nathan’s job to tell Haley about them, not hers.

“Aaah?” she says, steeling herself to look Haley in the eye.

“I wondered why you didn’t look very surprised when I walked in.” Haley seems almost disappointed.  
“You want to go out and do it again and I’ll be really stunned this time?”  
“Well … a little more fangirl adulation would be nice,” Haley giggles.

“Fangirl adulation? Don’t you mean long lost friends reunited?”  
“Both?” Haley says questioningly.

“Haley James,” Peyton says as she contemplates Haley, “what’s on your mind?”

“Wow … you’re as straight up as ever.”  
“Come on, spit it out, Haley.”  
“I’ve done a lot of thinking while I’ve been touring about with my folks and … I might have found a bit of inspiration out there on the road.”  
“You and Jack Kerouac, huh? So … whatcha got?”  
“An album of songs? Maybe?”

Peyton sits back and crosses her arms over her chest.  
“Haley James, I suspect there’s no maybe about it.”

“Okay. I do have an album of songs.”  
“And I suspect they’re really, really good, too?”  
“I think they might be, yeah,” Haley says straightforwardly.

“So …?”

“Peyton, I know we have a lot to talk about,” Haley starts nervously, “and I have a lot to apologise for …”  
“Haley, do you remember the conversation we had the day you left town?” Peyton asks, knowing that Haley will indeed remember every word.  
“Of course I do. That’s why I brought you the coffee.”  
“So then you remember me saying we’d both be in a better headspace when you got back?”  
Haley nods, smiling, her shoulders dropping a little.

“And are you in a better headspace now?” Peyton asks.  
“Yeah, I am.”  
“So am I. Good talk. Thanks for that. Now … what do you want to do with this album of songs?”  
“Peyton that _can’t_ be it! I … I was _awful_ to you. I blamed you for everything with Lucas. I completely took Lindsey’s side when you’d really done nothing wrong. I …”  
“Haley. We’ve been friends a long time now, right?”  
“Yes, but …”

“And I recall giving you a pretty hard time in Senior year over a certain guy we both cared about, right?”

“Yeah. But what you did back then, when _I_ came back to town, helped to save Nathan and I, Peyton. What I did to you, when _you_ came back to Tree Hill, did nothing to help save you and Lucas. In fact,” she says, taking a breath, “I made it worse.”

“The difference is that Lucas and I weren’t meant to be saved,” Peyton says calmly.

“You believe that?”  
“I really do.”  
“Is that why you look so good and sound so … at peace?” Haley asks curiously.  
“It’s part of it, I guess.”

“Nathan and I weren’t meant to saved either,” the shorter woman concedes a little sadly.  
“You were _then_. You were meant to have the time together that you had,” Peyton says adamantly. “You were there for each other for some big stuff, Hales. You don’t have any regrets about that, do you?”

“Not about the time we had, no.”

“Haley …” she starts out intending to ask about Haley’s intentions but stops, realizing that she really can’t. It’s not up to her. And she trails off, leaving the question unasked.

“So,” Haley starts, equally uncertainly, “I was wondering, seeing as though you’re all amazing and forgiving and everything …”

“That’s me; Saint Peyton,” she quips. “What miracle would you like me to perform for you, my child?”

“I’d like you to produce my album.”

“Oh. Wow. Um …”  
“I can pay for the studio time, or I could pay for it with hard labour. I’m going to talk to Principal Turner about substitute teacher work, too. But …”

“Haley if you need cash I can …”  
“Oh! No. I’m fine financially. The divorce … well … Nathan was more than generous. Really. Much more than he had to be. Legally, I mean. I’m going to look around and buy a little house. I really don’t need to worry about money. I just made the offer to work for the time in case you needed extra hands … I mean … I know how well Mia has been doing, and I know you have other artists signed now. I thought maybe an extra pair of hands might be useful.”  
  
“I have help, actually,” Peyton tells her.  
“Okay. Well then I’ll just pay for …”  
“Haley do you seriously think I’d let you pay for studio time?”

“Well, yes? I’m just a ...”  
“You’re _just_ one of my people,” Peyton insists. “The studio time isn’t an issue, but I want you to think about whether I’m the right person for this.”  
“I don’t need ...” but Peyton stops her, holding her palm up.

“Nope. I insist. Look. Brooke and I are having a BBQ the Saturday after next, to celebrate Nate’s first game back. Come along. Take a few days to think about whether you really do want to do your comeback album with me. Tell me after the BBQ.”  
“Peyton, I’ve already thought about this. I know I want you to produce.”  
“Well, _I_ want you to think about it some more. And I won’t discuss it any further until after the BBQ.”  
“I won’t change my mind,” Haley insists stubbornly.  
“I guess we’ll have an agreement after the BBQ, then,” Peyton replies smoothly, brooking no further argument. “But until then, I need to kick you out. Some of us have work to do. And shopping.”  
“Shopping?”

“Yeah. I have to get a cocktail dress for this thing I have to go to with your ex-husband.”

“Oh really?” Haley laughs.

“He needed a … what did he call it now?” she laughs. “A _respectable partner_. No … presentable. A _presentable partner_.”

“Well,” Haley laughs again. “That’s alright then.”  
“What?”  
“ _Presentable_ , you are, Peyton Sawyer. _Respectable?_ Not a chance!”

“Huh! And you want me to produce your album?” Peyton teases her in return. “I’m thinking maybe I’ll hand you over to my assistant, the way you’re going.”

“And who might that be?” Haley asks, standing.

“Well, well, well,” comes a voice from behind them, “that would be me.”

Haley raises an eyebrow at her friend.

“Oh, my God,” she says, “Peyton Sawyer hired _Chris Keller?_ What sort of alternative universe have I stepped back into?”

“The kind where she had to fabricate a five-week long scouting trip just to make room for the Keller at her label,” he drawls as he stops next to them, passing Peyton a coffee, looking sideways at the other takeaway cup on her desk.

She takes the coffee from him, swipes the empty one into the desk, and thumps his arm all in one semi-fluid movement.

“The kind where I took in _the Keller’s_ wayward, homeless, friendless ass and let him sleep on my studio couch and freeload his meals off my tab at Tric, you mean?” she counters playfully.

“To-may-to, to-mar-to,” he singsongs, making Peyton smile as she recalls her own use of that phrase earlier in the day, then he turns to look Haley up and down.

“Looking as fine as ever, Haley James Scott,” he says appreciatively.

“That’s just plain old Haley James,” Haley reminds him.

“There is nothing plain or old about Haley James,” he says softly. “There never was.”

Peyton watches as Haley blushes prettily, and right then feels a whole lot less worried about any impact Nathan’s ex-wife might have on his current personal life.

“Alright, you two,” she says in a maternal fashion, “this is a _working_ studio. Chris, thanks for the coffee, or at least for putting it on my tab at the café, as always, but you’re late and I need the studio ready to go for Jake. Haley, I hate to kick you out … _but_ I am indeed kicking you out. See you Saturday week, if not before.”

“Um … hang on,” Haley says, holding up a hand. “Jake? As in _Jake_ , Jake?”

“Yup. Jake as in Jake, Jake,” Peyton teases.  
“Hmmm. That why you’re looking so ‘ _I’m over Lucas’_ , Peyton Sawyer? Jake Jagielski kicked Lucas Scott’s ass out of your heart?”  
“I’m looking so _I’m over Lucas_ because, news flash, _I’m over Lucas_. Nothing to do with Jake. Though his _album_ is going to kick ass, even if I do say so myself.”

Haley tries her best to stare Peyton down, but the taller woman is more than up to the challenge and, eventually, Haley concedes defeat, though she’s clearly not convinced.

Peyton watches as Haley strolls out, smiling to herself as the brunette pauses at the door to look back at Chris for a moment as he moves around the studio, positioning microphones. Hmmm. Definite electricity.  And she feels even more confident that Haley hasn’t necessarily come back to try and negotiate another go with Nathan.

She checks her watch and realizes she really needs to knuckle down to get through her morning’s work before she heads out for that shopping expedition, especially when she has absolutely no idea what sort of dress she’s looking for. Nathan’s ‘help’ on hemline and cut notwithstanding, it’s times like this when she really could use Brooke’s input. But she really can’t call the fashionista and ask ‘what sort of dress do I get to be cocktail party appropriate and yet still knock Nathan’s socks off?’ now, can she? And she can’t walk into Brooke’s boutique and tell her she wants something classy yet oh so sexy without Brooke putting her through the third degree. Soon though. So, for now, an expedition to Wilmington it will have to be.

 

 

It’s an expedition that goes well. Really well. When she steps back into Tric after her foray up the highway, she’s still grinning from how successful her mission was. When she sees Nathan and Haley sitting at a table drinking coffee, her grin widens even more. She can’t help it; seeing him just makes her feel … amazing. And the fact that he met Haley _here_ for coffee, tells her she truly doesn’t have anything to be worried about; he’s being completely open and transparent. The two appear to be chatting amiably enough, and she realizes she knows his gestures and stance well enough to read him, even from here. He’s relaxed and engaged with what Haley is saying, but he’s not interested, not in _that_ way.

When he looks up and sees Peyton hovering between the entry way into Tric and the door to her office and studio, his face lights up and he waves her over. And there’s no other way to describe what she feels other than to say her heart swells.

As she approaches them, Haley turns and smiles a welcome.

“Hey Girly, how was your lunchtime shopping expedition? Buy anything the producer of my record would wear?”

“Hey. Good. Really good. Function frock sorted,” she replies, holding up a large bag. “And producer remains strictly TBC until after next Saturday,” she warns.

“Well, it was worth a try! Nice work on the frock … and what’s the other bag?”

Peyton holds up a small bag in an upmarket black and white design.

“ _Mata Hari Undercover Secrets_?” asks Haley. “Is that a new place?”

“Sure is. In Wilmington.”

“You went out of town? Ooo – let me see.” She peeks into the bag, cooing admiration at what she sees within.

“Peyton Sawyer! That lace is _gorgeous_! Is it French?”

“Yeah. Most of their stuff is.”

“Are _you_ keeping secrets too?” Haley asks lightheartedly. “Do you have plans to share this lacy French lingerie with someone specific?”

“Well … you never know your luck in the big city.”

She figures Nathan will recognize that phrase from their conversation earlier in the day and, glancing at him, she can see he has. His eyes flash at her while Haley has another peek into the bag. “Hmm. What is that colour? Aqua?”

“Umm. I think it’s more of a … turquoise,” Peyton answers coyly.

Nathan, having been trying to keep his smirk under control, now coughs abruptly and splutters coffee over the table. While he hurriedly wipes up the mess with a napkin, Peyton pats his shoulder, “You alright there, Hotshot?”

She turns back to Haley. “And secrets _too_? Who _else_ has secrets, Haley James?”

“Hmm,” says Haley, “I think _you_ just confirmed that you do, for a start. Tree Hill seems to have become a hotbed of romance while I’ve been away. Nathan’s been telling me about his amazing new girl.”

“Oh, he has, has he?”

“She sounds perfect,” Haley states cheerfully enough. “I’m so happy for him.” And she does sound genuine, but maybe also just a little wistful.

“Perfect, huh? I must get the details,” Peyton continues, very aware of Nathan’s growing discomfit.

“You don’t know? I thought you two were like best buds?” Haley says, surprised.  
“We are, and I know some bits and pieces,” Peyton shrugs. “He’s just been a bit ... reticent ... about giving out all the info.”

“Oooo,” replies, Haley with a laughing sideways look at her ex. “Maybe we should compare notes, see if we can figure out who it is.”

Nathan wades into that immediately. “Yeah. _Not_ happening.”

“But you said ...” his ex-wife starts.

“Hales!” he cuts her off.

“You said what, Scott?” teases Peyton.

He’s stubbornly quiet but Haley can’t resist. “He was talking about making a grand romantic gesture soon.”

“Oh _really_?” Peyton comments, eyebrow quirked.

“C’mon, Nathan, get another girl’s point of view on it,” Haley encourages him.

Great. Peyton and Haley ganging up on him, he thinks. _Perfect._

Peyton can’t help but enjoy his dis-ease. He’s too good at putting her on the spot and it’s awesome to get him back. “Yeah, c’mon, Nate,” she wheedles, laying her hand on his shoulder and leaning in to speak near his ear, knowing it’ll drive him crazy. “Get another girl’s opinion. A grand romantic gesture about what?”

He’s uncharacteristically hesitant when he speaks, after looking between the two of them for a few moments, then clearing his throat. “Whether or not … how girls … _in general_ , I mean, feel about public declarations.”

Haley, bubbly as ever, says she told him that all girls love them.

“You did?” asks Peyton, a bit perturbed.

“Of course. I mean … we do, don’t we?”

“Um … maybe. Sometimes. Doesn’t it depend on how public?” Peyton replies, tapping her fingertips on the table a little nervously. “And when? And what the declaration is?”

“Very public,” answers Nathan looking up at her, “very soon, and a big declaration.”

She realizes he’s talking about the planned announcement at the BBQ, which she texted him that she had invited Haley to, and that, as they had discussed earlier in the day, he was just preparing his ex-wife, a little bit anyway, for the news.

“Yeah,” she agrees, with a relieved smile. “Hales is right. Most girls love it when their guy puts it on the line like that. When it’s the right guy. And when it’s the right time.”

Haley gathers her bag, stands and, saying she’s off to see Lucas, tells them it’s been nice to catch up and she’ll see them at the BBQ the Saturday after next, if not before.

Peyton and Nathan head into the studio, where he asks her how she kept a straight face saying it was _him_ that had been reticent with information when he’s been keen to tell everyone for weeks, and, heading off on a tangent, if she’s going to show him what’s in the larger of the two shopping bags.

“Sure,” she answers, “but not now.”

“When?”

“At the cocktail party.”

“Fine. I get it. The big reveal for the special dress. But what about this one?” he says, gesturing to the smaller bag, which a cheeky smile. “Do I get a preview tonight?”

“Hmmm,” she pretends to consider his request. “You see the contents of _this_ bag _after_ the cocktail party.”

He pouts at her, but she is unmoved.

“Trust me baby, this little ensemble deserves a special occasion,” she teases.

He grins at the sexy promise she’s making. “I’ll have to do my best to make it _really_ special, then,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“So,” she asks, “big romantic gesture, huh? Something like … oh, I dunno …  going public after the charity game?”

“Something like that,” he agrees with a smug look.

“It’s just as well I’m totally in this thing then, huh?”

“And you are, right?” he asks, searching her eyes intensely. “ _Totally_ in?”

“Yes. I love my _car_ , remember?” She runs her hands up over his biceps. “My gorgeous, top of the line, go fast car.”

“You’re crazy,” he chuckles, though he can’t say he doesn’t love the way her palms and fignertips feel on his arms.

“You love my crazy.”

“I love _you_ , Peyton. I do. I love you. I’m …” he pauses, takes her hands from his arms and holds them firmly, looking into her darkening green eyes. “I’m kinda constantly amazed by how much this keeps growing.”

“Speaking of romantic declarations! That was … a bit … wow,” she almost whispers, unable to tear her eyes off him. “Me too though. You’re my guy. You’re it for me. And I love you too.”

They both stand, motionless, holding each other’s gaze, in a moment of stillness and calm and togetherness. They’ve been so circumspect all this time, especially in her place of work. Though they’re both sure that if Brooke hadn’t been completely hung over the morning after that late-night basketball session, she’d have put two and two together and actually made it add up right (like how was Peyton wearing clothes that she hadn’t had with her at the court?), other than the Skills’ balcony interruption, they – amazingly - haven’t come close to being caught out. Which is, he knows, completely improbable. But he can’t resist any longer.

They’ve just made these massive big statements, both with ‘how did we get here’ tones of voice and looks on their faces. And he really doesn’t care how they got here. He’s just glad they did. And right here, right now, he can’t resist her a second longer so he’s releasing her hands, and his are at her hips and he’s pulling her in for a kiss that is romantic and tender at first but quickly heats up and before he knows it, her fingers are once again threaded through his hair and, while one of hands remains firmly at her hip, the other is under her hair, fingers around her neck, while his forearm runs down her spine, and he presses his elbow into the small of her back to propel her even closer to him.

“Well, well,” comes a voice from behind him. And there it is. Had to happen. Caught out.

Peyton pulls back and peeks around Nathan’s shoulder.

“Jake!”

“I knew it!” He’s grinning and shaking his head, waggling his finger like they’re naughty children.

“You did not!” she retorts.

Nathan turns, stepping in behind her, his hand remaining at her hip. “Actually, he kinda did, babe,” he admits quietly. “He called it in Savannah.”

“What? That’s not even … Jake ... we ...”

“Jake, man,” Nathan interrupts Peyton’s shocked stuttering. “We’re telling everyone weekend after next, at the BBQ. Can you help us out and …?”

“My lips are sealed,” he agrees and heads towards the recording booth, but stops and turns. “And by the way,” he adds, pointing a finget at them, “nice work people.”

He heads off again, dropping his guitar onto the recording booth couch then sticking his head out again.

“And I _so_ called it first. So, I get best man. Or … or godfather. Or some such just reward.”

Peyton rolls her eyes and laughs, then grins at her man. Nathan is just quietly pleased that a reference to a wedding and a baby is not making her run screaming for the hills.

“So,” she says after a minute, and heading back towards her desk, “what was the big thing Haley wanted to discuss? She secretly had your baby?” She stops and he can practically see an evil thought flash through her brain. “Let me guess,” she laughs. “It’s a boy and he looks a lot like Lucas.”

He sits himself down in one of the comfy armchairs in front of her desk.

“Fuck. Don’t even joke about that. That would be too … _Tree Hill_. No. It’s … you remember Theresa?”  
“Yeah, of course. Ooo! Haley’s been secretly gay all this time and she’s with Theresa?”

“You’ve been friends with Brooke for way too long,” he drawls drily.  
“Who are you and what have you done with my man?”  
“What?”  
“You didn’t make some pervy reference to watching Haley and Theresa together,” she clarifies.

“Huh,” he says, surprised himself, now that he thinks about. “Wow. I guess … I just don’t think of them that way,” he says with a shrug.

“Oh, my God, you just said you don’t think about your gorgeous ex-wife that way. You are _so_ getting lucky tonight, Scott.”  
“Good to know. That’s a lock, by the way. No rainchecks. I’ll make sure I’m ready and waiting when my hard-working sexy girl gets home.”

Home, she thinks. Yes.

“Maybe I’ll skive off a bit early?” she teases enticingly.  
“ _Maybe_ that would be a really good idea. In fact, how about right now?”

“Ahh no. I’ve already lost too much time today. So ... continue with Theresa?”

“She’s in the police force now, in Wilmington.”  
“No way? That’s … _really_ funny.”

“Yeah, well, she got in touch with Haley a week or so ago. They’ve got Carrie in custody for fraud, kidnapping and a pile of other stuff. Turns out she’s a total nut job. What she did to me? She’s done it before; set up guys like that, and, get this, _she took a kid_. She lost her husband and kid in a car accident a few years ago and she’s never been right since. Sounds like maybe I look a bit like him? Her husband, I mean. They got her to name her … well ... not _victims_ exactly … but people she’d done it to. Theresa was one of the officers involved, as soon as she heard my name she contacted Haley to tell her she’d made a big mistake not believing me.”

“Oh my God! But … shouldn’t she have called _you?_ And _yes_ victim, by the way … even though I know you’ll hate the idea of being labeled one ... so ...”

“Hales wanted to … apologise, I guess … and tell me she knows she should have trusted me.”

“That’s good, I suppose.”

“It’s good to have it cleared up,” he nods. “No one likes false accusations. She asked what she could do to make it up to me and I asked her just to tell the core people that we’re all close to. Especially Luke. I just ... I know people still think I did it. And that ... that still sucks sometimes.”

“So, did she … want to ... you know …”

“Jump me?” he asks, eyebrow twitching in merriment.

She rolls her eyes at him.

“I don’t think so,” he answers thoughtfully. “I thought she was maybe starting to hedge around it and I jumped ... um … just told her straight away, before she got in too far and got embarrassed, that I was with someone and it’s serious.”

“Not letting get her past the point of no return; that was kind,” Peyton smiles.

“No point being anything else. From her reaction, or lack of one, I’d say that’s not where she was heading anyway. But God,” he sighs, dragging his long fingers through his hair and looking at her with a terrified expression, “when she said kidnapping. I mean, can you imagine if we’d had a kid?”

“Nightmare,” she whispers, reaching for his free hand and squeezing it before withdrawing again.

The thought is awful for her, not just the thought of a child being harmed like that, but the thought of him having children with anyone else almost makes her feel ill. Anyone _else_? Where did _that_ come from? Oh lord, is she thinking, _really_ thinking, about the possibility of children? With Nathan? There was that lovely moment before the car crash when she saw that beautiful Mom and daughter and felt a rush of warmth, but this is different. This is … this is something to tuck away and think about for a while.

“Hey,” he says, leaning forward and reaching to retrieve her hand. She places her palm just past his and wraps her fingers around his wrist. His fingers encircle her own wrist immediately, locking the pulses at their wrists together. “Thanks,” he smiles at her. “For not freaking out that I sort of … prepared Haley a bit about, you know … I just thought it’d be easier if she has a bit of a chance to get used to it.”

“That was thoughtful, Nathan.”

“Well. I mean ... I know I don’t _owe_ it to her ...”

“You don’t owe her _anything,”_ she says firmly, “but I get it. And it’s big of you. I like this guy sitting in front of me. I think I’ll keep him.”

“Good. He’s yours after all. Is …?” he’s hesitant. Very hesitant.

“What?” she prompts.

“Is there anyone _you_ want or need to … prepare? Before we amaze everyone with our awesomeness as a bona fide grown up moving in together couple?”

He’s resorting to jest, but she can see there are still the remnants of concern over that one significant other. She wants to yell at him about it, but she kind of gets it. It’s how she feels ... _felt_ about Haley, despite his protestations that there was nothing left there. So, she leans forward and reaches for his other hand and holds it in the same manner.

“No, Nathan,” she says simply, looking unflinchingly into his deep blue eyes.

“You sure?”  
“Who would I possibly want to prepare?” She’s going to make him say it because she wants this dealt with once and for all. He waits, but so does she, and eventually he caves.

“Luke.”

She looks him straight in the eye again. “I’ve told you before. And you were there in the driveway during that shoot out. There’s nothing there anymore. Not even the tiniest little flicker.”

 “I’ll stop checking on those embers then, shall I?” he asks, nodding his confirmation that he believes her.

“Nathan, I am not in love with him. And even when I was, it was never, ever like this; like you and me. You know how you say that when you look back on it, it was like you were never good enough for Haley? That there would always be a lack of trust? Or feeling like you were just waiting for another so-called screw up?”  
She squeezes her fingers around his wrists in support while she’s speaking, smiling as he returns the gesture, encouraging her to continue.

“My version of that is that, when I look back on it,” she says thoughtfully, “it was _always_ him saying I was perfect, then me not being able to measure up to his impossible ideals, and him judging me for failing to meet his standards … standards that _no one else_ got judged against. For Brooke, he was prepared to do the non-exclusive thing even though it went totally against everything he wanted and believed in. And for me, he wouldn’t even wait a year to get engaged while we were supposedly in a committed, exclusive relationship. For Lindsey, he’s been prepared to virtually cut me out of his life, even as a friend, or treat me so badly maybe it’d be better if he _did_ cut me out. He’d never have done that _for_ me and I’d never have asked him to.”

She stops and takes a deep breath, before continuing after Nathan gives her hands another gentle squeeze. He knows it’s hard for her to admit those things, even to him, but he thinks putting it all in perspective is a good thing.

“Or him judging me,” she continues, “for doing things or not doing them because I was _afraid_ , then him doing something worse because he was being stubborn or just plain _mad_. You? You accept me as I am, how I am. You think I’m good enough without trying to change me. You don’t judge me. This,” she says raising her hands and lifting his with hers, “is the best, most unconditional, warts and all thing I’ve ever had. And sometimes it still makes me laugh that the healthiest relationship of my life is with _you_ , but there it is. You get me, Nathan. And you’ve _got_ me for as long as you want me. I do not need to prepare your brother or anyone else. Because quite frankly anyone that has a problem with us just won’t be part of our lives.”

He lets go of her hands and walks to her side of the desk, placing his hands on the arms of her revolving desk chair and spinning her around to face him. He buries his face in her hair and kisses her on the cheek, breathing her in.  Skills was right. Sweet and spicy.

“Just as long as you realize that ‘for as long as I want you’ is going to be a really, _really_ long time,” he tells her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and placing a kiss right next to it. “And this is really bad timing when you just said such _amazing_ things to me, but I have to go in a minute. I’ve got a conference call with the charity game organisers.”

She smiles and kisses him quickly then rummages in her bag and passes him his credit card.

“So, did I pay for the contents of both those bags?” he asks, nodding towards them, “Which would be totally fine, by the way ... but if I did,” he teases, trying once more, “I really do think I’m entitled to a preview of the little one.”

“Nope. Just the big bag, which, you will recall, is your gift of appreciation to me for bailing you out on this whole cocktail party thing. The little one will be _my_ gift to _you_. Well, me wearing it will be, while I do some very, _very_ nice things to you.”

“And this gift is for what reason? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just because you’re mine.”

“I’m liking this mine stuff more and more. But are you _really_ sure I can’t get a preview tonight?”

“Positive. Now go, Hotshot. Some of us have real jobs.”

Just as he’s finally leaving, having doubled back twice for quick, gentle pecks on her smiling lips, Brooke bursts through the door, shouting and looking at her phone simultaneously.

“P? You know where Nathan is? Oooof …” she gasps out, as she runs headlong into the chest of the man she’s looking for.

“Davis,” he greets her, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “I’m here.”

“Oh crap. Sorry Hotshot.”

“I’m running late for a conference call, Brooke,” he tells her, checking his watch quickly. “You need something? You’ll have to be quick.”

“Just … Nathan,” she sighs with almost a wince. “I just saw Haley. She said ... oh God, Nathan ... I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m such a shitty friend.”

He shakes his head, pulls her in for a hug and drops a kiss on her head.

“We’re all good, Brooke. Don’t stress about it, but I really need to go. Later, Sawyer!”

Brooke slumps into the chair Nathan was in just minutes before, nervously fiddling with her hair. “P. Sawyer. I am such a …”

“No, you’re not,” Peyton leaps in. “Brooke, you were a good friend to Haley back then and you’ve been a great friend to Nathan these last few months.”

“But I …”

She tails off, her usually raspy voice becoming even more choked and Peyton leans over to take her hand.  
“Brooke, but _nothing_. Don’t you think if _he’s_ not holding a grudge, then you should let it go too?”

“What about you?” Brooke asks uncertainly, her eyes looking awfully like they’re about to spill over.

“Me?”  
“By not believing him, I didn’t believe you either,” Brooke explains quietly.  
“Oh, honey. Stop beating yourself up,” Peyton replies in a motherly tone, covering Brooke’s hand with her other hand.  
“Look, I know you did the whole ‘we just won’t discuss it’ thing with me on the Carrie incident, and I appreciate that,” Brooke continues. “But I need to make it up … atone.”  
“Since when have you been Catholic?” Peyton jokes.

“Peyton …” Brooke whines, desperate to make some sort of amends for this. After all, she’s known both Nathan and Peyton since grade school.  And sure, there’s been ups and downs, but the last few years have been nothing but good and she feels totally shitty for not giving Nathan the benefit of the doubt on this.

“Alright. I’ve got a penance for you, Miss Fashionista,” Peyton smiles, reaching for the larger of her two shopping bags and passing it across the desk to her troubled friend. “In the spirit of letting the punishment fit the criminal, tell me what shoes and jewelry to wear with this dress.”

“Ooooo,” Brooke gasps admiring the dress as she pulls it from the large bag.  “Now _that’s_ the kind of penance that’ll turn me into a repeat sinner! Is this the one for the cocktail party after Nathan’s charity game?”

Just as she’s finishing her question, Brooke’s phone rings. She makes more appreciative faces at Peyton’s stunning cocktail dress, while speaking.

“Hey Hotshot! … Yes, _please,_ anything! Oh, that’ll be fun. That’s _hardly_ a punishment! Absolutely. Leave it with me. I’ll call you tonight with numbers.”

She ends the call and takes the midnight blue dress in her hands.

“Peyton. This dress is _amazing_!” she enthuses. “But my first question has to be, why didn’t you come to me for a dress?”

“Because I know you!” Peyton deflects. “You’d want to make me a one-off, and there wasn’t enough time for you to do that without it affecting your other timelines.”

“Hmmm,” Brooke replies suspiciously.

“Brooke,” Peyton pleads. “Come on …”

“I’ll let you off,” the brunette says waving her perfectly manicured hand in the air. “But only because you’ve done an amazing job of choosing a dress without me. There’s hope for you yet, P. Sawyer. That colour is going to look fabulous on you. The length is going to show of those stick insect legs of yours beautifully. Shoes?”  
“I was thinking my strappy silver?” Peyton suggests.

“Yes. Beautiful, classy _and_ sexy. But you _must_ promise me that next time you get roped into a cocktail party full of pro athletes, you let me make your dress.”  
“And why must I do that?” Peyton laughs.

“Because! Hot boys in their prime!” Brooke says as if it’s obvious. “With your little penchant for basketball players, Nathan’s your ticket to finding the perfect man, P. Sawyer. And I’ll make the dress that’ll have that perfect man eating out of your hand.”

Peyton laughs and demures, clearly surprising Brooke a little, but Peyton changes the subject before her friend can question her further.  
“So, speaking of our favourite ball player, what was Nathan asking you on that call?”  
“He said if I want to make it up to him for the whole not believing him about that whore Carrie thing, could I pull together a group to go down to the charity game next Friday,” Brooke explains. “There’s still some good tickets available. He said it’s shaping up to be one of the most important days of his life and it would mean a lot to have his friends there.”

“That’s awesome!” Peyton grins. “It is _such_ a big day for him. I mean I know it’s not the first competitive game, that’ll be the next week, but it’s his first game back on the court as a pro player since the accident.”

“He seems kinda chilled about it though, P.,” Brooke muses. “I thought he’d be a wreck.”

“You know what?” Peyton suggests. “I think this whole charity game thing has been a really good distraction for him. Soon he’ll be crazy stressed.”

“I guess he’ll be in Charlotte though?” Brooke wonder almost to herself. “We won’t have to suffer his craziness.”

She’s so close to telling Brooke that, actually, her plan is to be in Charlotte with him a lot of the time, and definitely for his first competitive game of the season, but that’ll make Brooke ask why and … _no_. They have a plan. In two Saturdays. At the BBQ. But maybe she should ease Brooke into the idea …

“Alright. Now seriously, Brooke. Thanks for your expert opinion, but I am officially kicking you out. I’ve had a disrupted day and I’ve got a ton of stuff to do. But hey ...” she adds as if just thinking of it, “just so you know … I … I’m gonna have someone at the BBQ. That’s okay, right?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow and grins widely. “I _knew_ you were looking too happy for it to be just work joy. I’m not even gonna try and get it out of you right now, P. But promise I get first grilling of the boy?”

“You got it, bestie.”

“P?”  
“B?” Peyton replies, observing a concerned look on her best friend’s face.  
“Umm … is …”

“Relax Brooke,” Peyton laughs. “It’s not Julian.”

“How ... I mean ...” Brooke just shrugs, unable to explain what she’s trying to ask.  
“You forget ... I’ve known _you_ as long as you’ve known _me_. And before you even ask, it’s not a problem for me. He’s a great guy. He could be good for you. _Really_ good. And no, this is not a girl code violation. And yes, I do know that you two have been texting _and_ emailing _and_ skyping and goodness knows what else you’re planning to do with the aid of technology!”

“Well, P. it is the _digital_ age you know!” Brooke quips, arching her eyebrow and wriggling her fingers in a suggestive manner.

“Ew! Take those grubby digits and get outta here, Davis!”

 

Just after Nathan finishes that conference call, he almost runs headlong into his mother, and Deb immediately complains that she hasn’t seen him for far too long.

“Mom,” he protests, “you see me two or three times a week. We’re always bumping into each other around town.”

Deb laughs – he’s right after all - but won’t let him get away with it.

“I mean to sit down and have a chat, honey. Not just rushing past each other in the grocery store or whatever!”

“So, let’s go get a coffee now, then,” he suggests.

“Really?”

“Really, Mom,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and starting towards the nearest coffee place.

“Oh, I’d love to!” Deb enthuses genuinely, making him take a mental note to make a little more of an effort to make _real_ time for his mother.

They spend a good hour catching up. And she’s good; she’s _great_. (She’s even better when he tells her about the development with Carrie and that Haley is taking care of telling people about his confirmed innocence. Like Peyton, when Deb first heard the news from Nathan, she’d looked him square in the eye, then told him she believed him, and that he had her full support. He’s more than thrilled to be able to let her know her faith was warranted.) Deb holds off for almost the full sixty minutes, but he’s very aware that she’s biting her tongue, and eventually she can’t help but drop hints about him ‘getting back in the game.’

“Mom! Next Friday night I get back in the game. You already know that,” he teases.

“Funny!” she laughs and leans forward to cuff him around the head. “That’s not the getting back in the game I mean, and you know it! You should get out there and get yourself a nice girl, Nathan.”

“Mom, we’ve had this discussion,” he reminds her. “Multiple times, I think.”

“I know, but I just … honey,” she says, taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes tentatively, “I wonder if … maybe you’re not seeing what’s right under your nose?”

“What? Froth from my coffee?”

“Oh, and the jokes just don’t stop today!” she declares, waving her hand at him in mock frustration. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but what you want is to tell me _who_ you mean, right?”

“Well … seeing as though you asked,” she grins.

“I really didn’t, Mom.”

“I know, but I’m pretending you did,” Deb shrugs.  
“Just don’t say Brooke, please!” he begs, putting on a face of horror.

“Oh, my God, no! I love her to bits; she’s grown into an amazing young woman. But you and Brooke would damn near kill each other if you were together.”

“Well, at least we agree on that,” he mutters, taking another mouthful of coffee.

“Honey …” she wheedles.

“Mom …” he says, mimicking her tone.

“Nathan!”

“I’m not playing guessing games,” he insists. “You got something to say, you say it.”  
“Peyton!” she almost yells.

“Peyton?”  
“Yes, Peyton! You two would be so great!”

“We’ve kind of been there, in case you’d forgotten,” he chuckles, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest and wondering what his mother will come up with as her justification.  
“Yes. When you were kids, with all kinds of crap going on,” she explains, “and when you were the worst versions of yourselves. Now you’re both the _best_ versions of yourselves and oh my God, you’d have beautiful children together.”

 _What is it with people thinking they’d have great looking kids?_ he thinks. Mind you …

He smiles, shaking his head, and stands, indicating that he really needs to get going. He walks his mother to her car, gives her a hug then places a hand on her shoulder.

“You coming to the BBQ next Saturday, Mom?”

“Yes, it’s so nice of the girls to do that after your first proper game,” she comments. “And it’ll be fun having you all together.”  
“Well … I’m bringing someone,” he says, trying to make it sound tentative but knowing Deb will leap all over it anyway.

“Oh. That’s great!” Deb enthuses. “Wait? You totally played me in there!” she protests, hitting him on the arm gently. “So … will I like her?”

“I think you’ll be pretty happy with her,” he grins.

“Well, I’ll be happy with her if she makes _you_ happy,” his mother says warmly.

“In that case, _Mommy dearest_ , you’re going to be over the moon.”

Deb wraps her arms around her son and squeezes.

“You’re alright, Nathan Scott,” she says, holding him at arms’ length for a moment. “You deserve to be happy. You know that, right?”  
“You’re supposed to say that. You’re my mother,” he kids.  
“It’s also _true_.”

That night, at the beach house, Peyton is tidying the kitchen after a simple dinner, when Nathan sneaks in behind her and pins her against the corner where the counters meet.

“Preview time?” he murmurs near her ear.

“No. And I will not be persuaded otherwise,” she retorts, batting his hands away.

“I’ll just have to make my own entertainment, then,” he says with a gravelly, suggestive tone.

He’s soon got her flushed and murmuring his name and suggesting that they move this upstairs. He’s nodding his agreement and taking her hand to lead her away from the kitchen when his phone buzzes. He curses lightly, glances at the caller ID, answers the call and flicks it to speaker.

“Hey Davis. You’re on speaker.”

“You got someone there?” Brooke’s reply is perky and light.

“Just … got my hands full in the kitchen,” he replies, with a suggestive grin at Peyton.

Peyton widens her eyes at him and smacks his chest lightly, then tries to move away, but he’s not letting her go anywhere and continues to run his hands just where he pleases.

“Oh right. So … about Friday?” Brooke continues. “I thought I’d pop over in a bit and fill you in?”

“Actually, Brooke, I fly out to Charlotte early tomorrow and I want to be in bed early tonight.”

His hands are doing crazy things to Peyton as he’s talking about being in bed, and he throws her a sexy wink as she hops up to sit on the counter and pulls him between her legs, efficiently undoing his belt buckle. “So, can you just tell me now?” he asks the brunette on the phone.

“Sure. Of course. Me, of course. Lindsey’s going to be in New York for a few days from Thursday so just Luke from that Scott household. Skills. Tutor-wi … aaaah Hales … is that okay?”  
“It’s fine, Brooke,” he assures her.

“So, that’s four. Millie’s super keen but we need someone in the store so she can’t, but Mouth’s in. Junk’s working but Fergie’s in. And your Mom.”

“My Mom?” he says with an intake of breath as Peyton’s fingertips slip inside his jeans to toy with the elastic of his boxers.

“Yeah. I literally ran into her at the grocery store. I was talking to Mouth about it on the phone and she overheard me and she begged to come. That’s cool, yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s … perfect, actually. So that’s seven?” he asks, doing a quick tally.

“Nope. Ten. Here’s the best bit. Luke said Karen, Andy and Lily arrive tomorrow for a couple of weeks or so, and Andy’s never been to a big basketball game so he’s super keen. So, all three of them are coming plus …” she says with distinct excitement, “Andy wants to talk to the organisers about making a substantial donation, and, Nathan you’re gonna love this; if the event all goes well he’d like to talk about underwriting it as an annual thing. Maybe making it like a pre-season invitational ... Bobcats vs whoever.”

“You’re kidding?” Nathan asks, his jaw dropping and his eyes locking with Peyton’s sparkling pair.

“Nope.”  
“Brooke … that’s got your name written all over it. Did you …?”  
“I _may_ have had an idea and floated it past Andy when I _maybe_ made Luke ask Andy to call me direct.”

“You’re amazing Brooke Davis. How’d you make Luke do that?”

“Well. I told him if he got Andy to call me, I might, finally, maybe let him off the mat for that debacle at Tric a few weeks back. But only ‘cos P really must be okay with it all ‘cos she said she’s bringing a boy to the BBQ. Did you know that? Did you know P has a new boy?” she winds up breathlessly, clearly hoping she has a scoop.

“I … um … a _new_ boy?” he queries, while running his palms up Peyton’s sides. “No. Didn’t know that.”

“Ha! I score points in the P. Sawyer besty race, then! Anyways … you were letting me off the hook a little lightly on the whole me not backing you over Carrie-the-whore, Scott. So … we’re gonna hire a big people mover thing and all drive down in one vehicle. We’ll leave to come back right after the game. It’ll make it a late night but we’ll share driving and we all need to be back for stuff on Saturday.”

“Including the _Nathan Scott is freaking awesome_ BBQ at your place,” he chuckles.

“Including _that_. Alright, Hotshot. I’ll let you get to bed. Oh, hey ... speaking of P., do you know where our girl is?”

He grins; if only Brooke knew.

“Ah … I think I heard her talking about an early night too?” he suggests as if searching his memory banks.

“Yeah. Makes sense,” Brooke replies. “She’s really been hard at it lately. I’m just walking in my front door. Her door’s closed. I was going to barge on in but maybe I’ll just let her sleep.”

“I think that would be best, Brooke,” Nathan agrees as Peyton breathes a little sigh of relief. “I think she could really do with a good night in bed.”

“Alrighty. But if you see her or talk to her before I do, can you tell her I changed my mind on the shoes to go with that amazing dress she got. I saw some at the mall so I grabbed them for her. They’ll make her legs look even more ... leggy. See you soon.”

“Yep. And thanks again Brooke.”

“My pleasure.”

He ends the call and is immediately accosted by Peyton.

“Seriously? _Hands full in the kitchen_?” she says in mock anger, slapping his chest.

“Hey! Brooke said you’d been _hard at it_. If she only knew, huh?”

“You’re incorrigible,” she giggles, which in turn makes him grin even wider. Peyton giggling is not something he used to hear a lot of. Lately? It’s his favourite sound, and he gets to hear it a fair amount.

“If that means I can’t resist you ‘cos you’re sexy as all get out, then sure, I’m incorrigible,” he replies, taking her hands and flattening them against his body.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Scott,” she drawls, lightly running her palms over his chest.

“Will it get you _hard at it_?” he asks suggestively.

She slides her hands back down his chest to rub her palms over the front of his jeans. “What? Like you are, baby?”

It takes one second for him to be crashing his mouth into hers and for his hands to be under her ass, hauling her up so that her legs are wrapped around his hips. He’s half way up the stairs before he breaks to take in air.

“Nathan! You shouldn’t be carrying me … you need to be fighting fit for ...”

“Shut up. You keep me fighting fit. Now kiss me.”

And what could she say to that?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Nathan's big comeback debut at the charity game is at hand. And that's not the only thing at hand, either! Also, at long last, there are signs of Lucas re-emerging from the pod person he's been for the last several months.

Half time at the big game and she is stoked with how Chris managed the anthem and thrilled with how well the crowd has received Jake. He’s done his rockiest original song and a souped up cover of an old Allman Brothers number. His warmth and guy next door charm have captured the crowd, and the wide grin he sports has many of the girls sitting near Peyton making awfully flattering remarks.

“Thank you so much,” Jake says, ducking down to the mic. “It’s been a privilege and a pleasure to play for you all. This is my last song, it’s for a very special girl in the crowd and for a very, very special reason. The song’s called _Someday_ and you’ll know why soon.”

Keller gives her an odd look and she shrugs. She has no idea what Jake means by that. And quite frankly, she’s still got way too many images of Nathan moving up and down that court like a big cat on the hunt to even think about anything any other guy has said. Even a guy that, after that performance, is clearly going to be the next big thing; _her_ next big artist. God, Nathan Scott is just so sexy. All she can really think about is getting him back to that hotel room. Except damn, they’ve got that stupid cocktail party to go to first.

It seems appropriate, for a charity game, when the scoreboard reflects a draw at the end of the allotted time. To entertain the amazing crowd, the lead announcer takes to the court and suggests that the game captains (Nathan for one team due to his involvement with HCM, and the actual captain for the Knicks for the other team) each select a ring in to take three free throws to decide the result; someone that isn’t on either of the teams, seeing as though they’ve all worked pretty hard over the last couple of hours.

The Knicks captain, Kirk, immediately selects the announcer, Fred, who everyone knows was a fairly useful college ballplayer some years back.  There’s some teasing and joking about that, then Nathan is informed he’s not allowed to choose his brother, who they are sure is in the crowd, and, given what they’ve heard, who they’re pretty sure would’ve played college ball had the disease they’re playing for not denied him that privilege. Nathan makes a bit of a good-natured play of selecting his guy, and surprises everyone when he announces that Jake Jagielski, half time entertainer, is his pick to take his team’s free throws.

Jake emerges onto the court looking a little overwhelmed but laughs when Nathan knocks fists and tells him quietly just to take his mind to that court in Savannah with Jenny asleep in a stroller on the sidelines.

Nathan may be the only person in the stadium that isn’t surprised when, after the announcer hits two of his three shots, Jake steps up to the line and effortlessly nails all three, causing the already appreciative girls in the crowd to go nuts. Fred shakes his head good naturedly, accepting defeat, shakes Jake’s hand and shoos him teasingly off the court, before taking the mic back to address the crowd.

“Alright, folks. This amazing game we’ve watched has been all about hearts; playing with heart and raising awareness about, and funds for, HCM research. But now, for those in the crowd who have stayed with us, which looks to be most of you, we’ve got a couple of very special surprise presentations that are all about hearts in the romantic sense. Up first, Kirk, you’ve got a fantastic couple you want to introduce us to?”

“That’s right, Fred.” Kirk takes a mic and heads back a few rows into the stands, followed by a cameraman, the resulting images being projected onto big screens around the stadium.

“This lovely couple is Robert and Carol,” Kirk announces as he reaches his target, and extends a hand to help the woman, who looks to be in her 70s and who is fully decked out in Knicks supporters gear, to her feet. Her husband stands with her and they very sweetly hold hands while they speak to the Knicks’ captain.

“So, ladies and gents, Robert and Carol have been big basketball fans in general for their whole lives, and in particular, they’re big fans of the Knicks.” At that, a good portion of the crowd cheers loudly. “And today, Rob and Carol are here not just to watch a great game, but to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Rob ... how many years is it?”  
“It’s sixty years, Kirk.”

“Wow. You two must’ve gotten married in kindergarten! Carol … have you got any advice for us youngsters?”  
“Sure,” she smiles winningly. “Girls … I know times have changed and everyone’s balancing careers and families and busy lives but really … it’s simple; it’s all about love. And you don’t get sixty years of bliss like I’ve had unless you say yes when the right fella tries to sweep you off your feet.”

“And Rob?” Kirk asks, turning to the dapper gentleman. “Advice for the young men here?”

“That’s easy, Kirk. You know when it’s the right girl, you really do. My advice is that when you find her, hold on tight. It might get a bit bumpy sometimes but when you know she’s the one, just don’t let go.”

“Well, we’ve got a little diamond wedding anniversary gift for you two lovebirds. This is lifetime passes to attend all Knicks games, and we hope to see you both at many, many games to come.”

As the crowd cheers, Kirk heads back to the court to rejoin Fred and Nathan.

“Alright, folks, let’s hear it again for Robert and Carol, and for Kirk and the rest of the New York Knicks!” Fred winds the crowd up. When the cheering calms down, he turns to address the other player on the court.

“Nathan Scott. So … first game back … how are you feeling?”

“Actually, Fred, I’ll admit that I’m a little nervous right now,” Nathan says, shrugging his broad shoulders a little.

“The game’s over, you came out on the right side of the scoreboard, just, thanks to your secret weapon, Jake the guitar playing sharp shooter. Why nervous now?” Fred asks with a knowing grin.

“Well, Kirk handled his presentation like a real pro. Pressure’s on me now, I think,” Nathan replies rubbing his hands together.

“So, tell us about your presentation, Nathan.”

“Well, a sixtieth anniversary is pretty special, and if it goes according to plan, mine’s another very special romantic moment.”

Nathan laughs at the expectant oohs and aahs from the crowd, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.

“Alright then, best you take this and get on with the job,” Fred says, passing the mic to the brunette.

Nathan, cordless mic in hand, heads up into the crowds in the family and friends section, catching the eye of, and a brief confirming nod from Jake, who is standing unnoticed at the top of the section and starts to head down the stairs. Nathan’s talking as he goes, seemingly reading from a cue card.

“So ... the backstory to this couple is that they dated a long time ago and he’ll freely admit that in the last stages of that he was a bit of an ass … a bit of _jerk_ , in fact a lot of a jerk. They’ve both had their share of drama along the way, but somehow have found their way back to each other. And he says he can’t believe this amazing woman has given him another shot, but that he’s just going to continue to be grateful that she has. So … I’m looking for this lovely lady up here in the crowd.”

As Nathan nears where Chris and Peyton are sitting, Jake slides wordlessly back into his seat.

“Hey. Check this out!” Nathan declares. “It’s today’s entertainers; Chris Keller and Jake Jagielski. Guys, you did a great job out there, especially you, Jagielski. I owe you big time. And who’s this with you?”

Jake goes to answer but Chris, ever the opportunist, leans across Peyton, grabs the mic and pulls it towards himself to answer.

“This is the incredibly talented head of our label, Red Bedroom Records, Peyton Sawyer.”

“Peyton Sawyer, huh?” Nathan chuckles. “Ms Sawyer, would you like to step out here and give me a hand?”

Peyton, blushing a little and a _lot_ wary, moves out into the aisle, giving Nathan a hard stare as she does. Chris and Jake move out with her, Jake so that she can get out of the row, and Chris because … well, because he’s _the Keller_ and frankly he’s loving the limelight.

“Ms Sawyer, would you help me out and read the name on this card?” Nathan asks, showing it to her.

She looks, blushes more and gives him a fierce look. He extends a hand to her as if to tell her to continue.

“I think you know very well what the name on this card is, Nathan!”

“Sure, I do,” he smirks, enjoying her fluster, “but all the lovely people in the stadium don’t. Don’t be shy now … read it out.”

“The name on the card is Peyton Sawyer,” she says, nudging him with her elbow, much to the hilarity of the people around her.

“Well, well. That would be ... you!” he says, all innocence.

“Indeed,” she says drily, looking at Chris and elbowing him next. “Did you know about this, Keller?”  
“Not a clue, Goldilocks,” is his entirely honest reply.

On the other side of the stadium, Brooke suddenly leans across Karen and Lucas and gets Haley’s attention by tapping on her arm. “Hales! You don’t think it’s Keller, do you?”

“What?” asks Lucas in confusion, as Haley, knowing immediately what Brooke means, shakes her head.

“P’s bringing her new boy to the BBQ tomorrow,” explains Brooke to the man between them. “God, I hope it’s not Keller.”

“It’s not,” smiles Haley.

“How do you know?” Lucas and Brooke ask in unison.  
“’Cos _I’m_ bringing Chris to the BBQ,” Haley replies smoothly, a little smile tugging at her lips.

“Hales!?” protests Lucas.

“Shut up, Luke,” she replies. “It’s none of your business who I bring. Or who Peyton brings,” she adds with a warning.

Their attention is drawn back to the microphone-wielding Nathan.

“So ... Peyton Sawyer. That’s a nice jersey you’re wearing there,” he says gesturing to her green and gold jersey.

“Well I’ve been a big Bobcats fan for a while now,” she smiles cheekily, earning an enthusiastic cheer from the friends and family crowd around her.

“And is that one of those special jerseys with your favourite player’s name and number on the back?”

“It might be,” she says coyly.

“Go on then, give us a twirl and show us who you cheer for.”

She turns and, of course, the name Scott and number 23 are emblazoned on her back, which gets a big laugh from the crowd as it flashes up on to the large screens.

“So, Ms Sawyer. Can I keep counting on your support?” Nathan asks, apparently innocently.  
“Well, _Mr_ Scott,” she teases, “I think that might depend on how much more embarrassing this little stunt of yours gets!”

Haley throws her arm across Lucas and jabs Brooke in the arm.

“Brooke! Look at Jake,” she exclaims in a loud whisper, and they both watch on as Jake removes a small box from his trouser pocket.

“Ring or earrings?” Brooke mutters under her breath. “Ring, ring, ring,” she whispers, crossing her fingers tightly.

“It _is_ Jake!” Lucas exclaims. “She’s been seeing Jake.”

At that, Skills interjects, leaning forward from the row behind. “Nah. Dude! You’re blind. If it’s Jake, then why is he taking the ring out of the box and sneaking it to your …?”

“Oh, my God!” Brooke gasps, interrupting Skills, as everything falls into place in her mind. “It’s ... he’s the _guy_ ... the one we get to ‘meet’ tomorrow. It’s ... it’s Nathan!”

 

Nathan wraps his arm around Peyton’s shoulder and pulls her in for a sideways hug. He addresses the crowd with a charming grin.

“Alright, time to come clean. The point of this ‘little stunt’ is for me to admit that the jerk I was referring to earlier is me and that this girl right here _next_ to me is nothing less than amazing. I have to tell you ... all you guys out there with great girls … do _not_ be a jerk to them. ‘Cos my girl’s one in a million and the other nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine won’t give you the second shot that she gave me.”

He looks at Peyton and winks, kisses her on the temple and murmurs ‘I love you’ right by her ear, before he’s speaking back into the mic, but watching her intently.

“How am I doing on the embarrassment levels, babe?” he teases.

“Seconds left on the clock, buzzer looming, score’s tied up and you’re gonna need to pull a monster dunk out to win this one, Scott,” she snaps back, hands on hips and eyebrow raised.

But she’s laughing, as is he. He takes a couple of steps down, then, just when she thinks it’s over, turns.

“Hey!” he says as if another thought has just occurred to him. “One more thing, Sawyer. Where’s your head at on continuing to be my number one fan?”

“I guess I could sign up for one more season,” she counters in a teasing tone.

“How about 2 or 3?”

She rolls her eyes, laughing at his cheek, then nods and winks. He takes just a second, smiling widely at her as he looks up the couple of stairs between them.

“How about …” he continues thoughtfully, “sixty?”

“Wh … what?”

He takes those couple of steps back up to her, and places one hand on Jake’s shoulder without removing his eyes from hers.

“Jake … what was that advice Robert gave the guys?” he asks, conversationally.

“When you find the right girl, don’t let her go,” Jake replies, looking fondly at Peyton.

“Keller,” Nathan continues, turning to Chris, “what was it that the lovely Carol said to the ladies?”

“Aah,” Chris thinks then holds his finger up as he recalls the words.  “When the right guy sweeps you off your feet, say yes?”

“And what is it they say about sixty years, Peyton?” Nathan says as his deep blue eyes swing back to meet hers. “Diamonds?”

Peyton says nothing but nods with wide eyes, watching as Nathan reaches into his pocket and takes out the ring that Jake slipped him a minute ago, passing the mic to Jake as he does so.

“How about diamonds and emeralds?” he suggests.

“Nathan!” she gasps.

“Peyton Sawyer …” he says, taking her hand with his free one, and smiling up at her. “You are _amazing_. Smart. Strong. Talented. Kind. Wickedly funny. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on and _will_ ever lay eyes on. Four months ago, I was in _such_ a good place; I knew I was coming back to play, had good family and friends around. But,” he continues gesturing between the two of them, “I thought that this kind of happiness only happened in the movies or in novels. And now, I know I was wrong; it’s not just a story. It’s _our_ story.”

He can’t help but chuckle as a solitary tear slips down her cheek, and she uses her free hand to catch it, shaking her head in disbelief at his declaration thus far.

“I’ve already told you I’m yours,” he continues. “And you’ve already told me you’re mine. With everything we’ve achieved in the last year, I really didn’t think I could be prouder, but now at my first game back, and with you here supporting me, in my team colours,” there’s cheer from the Bobcats crowd at that, “and wearing my number … well ... I was wrong again … whole new levels of pride, babe. And now … the only thing that could make me any prouder would be if, as well as wearing my colours, my name and my number, you were also wearing my ring.”

She’s standing gobsmacked, her hands over her mouth, eyes swimming with tears.

“Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer,” he says carefully, smiling, already knowing that those tears are the good kind. “Will you wear my ring, exchange I Dos with me and let me spend the next sixty years, more if we’re lucky, trying to make you as happy as you make me?”

She blinks once, twice, trying to get some semblance of control over her voice.

“Nathan Scott,” she says after a few long beats, and with a very wobbly voice, “I love you.”

 

Brooke, on the edge of her seat, waves her hand madly in front of Deb, who’s sitting next to her. The two grasp hands and jiggle nervously.

 

“Well, I’m very glad to hear it, Sawyer, but you didn’t answer the question,” he points out, earning a laugh from the enraptured crowd.

“Technically speaking that was three questions,” she retorts.

“Sawyer!” he protests.

She kisses him on the cheek then says, “Yes.” Kisses him on the other cheek, says “Yes” again, then puts her lips to his in a sweet, gentle press.

“And … hell yes!”

He slides the ring onto her finger, then as they share another very romantic, entirely appropriate given the surroundings, kiss, the cameraman zooms in for a rather lovely close-up of her left hand on his cheek.

Brooke, seeing the ring on the screen, gasps loudly and immediately starts crying big drippy tears. Deb and Karen, seated either side of her, are concerned.

Karen speaks first. “Brooke. Sweetie? What’s wrong?”

“The ring!”

“It’s lovely,” Deb sighs happily. “Nathan has such great taste.”

“No! I mean ... yes … but oh my God ... this is the most romantic thing ever.”

“Brooke?” Karen asks.

“I … I,” the young brunette stutters, wiping tears off her cheeks. “I’ll tell you all later. In the van on the way back, when you can hear properly ... but Deb … oh my God ... your son is the best!”

They return their gazes to the other side of the stadium, where security personnel are now ushering a beaming Nathan, a tearful but widely smiling Peyton, Jake and Chris down the stairs and away into the hidden recesses of the Bobcats’ organization.

 

An hour and a half later, standing outside the large reception room in which the after-game cocktail party for media, sponsors, players and officials is being held, Nathan stops, taking her hand in his and pulling her aside.

“So,” he murmurs close to her ear. “That whole grand romantic gesture thing I mentioned to Haley …”

“Yeah,” she says, with a mock frown. “When I said announcement after the game, this is not quite what I had in mind.”

“Forgive me?” he asks with a winning smile and a quick kiss to her temple.

“With this ring?” she gasps. “Nathan, I …”

“You don’t mind?” he prompts, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.  
“Mind? Oh my God, you have no idea what this means to me,” she assures him.

“Even if I made you say yes in front of a crowd of thousands?”  
“You didn’t _make_ me. And honestly? The second I realised what you were doing, I didn’t see anyone but you anyway … but … weren’t you even a little worried I’d …”  
“No. Not at all.”

“Cocky much?”

“You know the answer to that, babe,” he murmurs sexily near her ear. “And, by the way, I was _confident_ too.”

“Funny! So … we really have to go into this thing, right?” she flirts, sliding a fingertip down his arm.

“Afraid so. Two hours then we split and go back to our room?”  
“To celebrate?”

“Something like that. Maybe I can show you a little more of my … _confidence_?”

He pushes open the door, grinning, and stands back to let her walk ahead of him.

“Such a gentleman!” she quips.

“Nah,” he mutters by her ear. “I just want a good look at your sexy ass in that amazing dress.”  
“Nathan!”

His reply is drowned out by the entire room clapping as the couple walk in.

The Tree Hill crew are getting into their van to start their journey home when Brooke springs a surprise on Skills, pushing him towards the driver’s door and pressing the car keys into his hand.

“Skills! You’re driving,” she orders.

“Man! Why me?”

“Because I am a very smart woman, Skills Taylor, and I was actually a very smart girl in high school too, ‘tho I admit I hid it well at times,” she says, arms akimbo, “and I’ve been waiting a _very_ long time to call you out on that Honey Grove road trip driving stunt of yours.”

“Say what B. Davis?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Driving all of a hundred feet then waking me up and telling me it was my turn and making me drive again!”

“Damn girl! You are so … that was a million years ago … and it was at least _two hundred_ feet!”

“Yeah, well ... revenge is a dish best served cold and all that! You’re driving us back and Broody, you’re up front making sure he doesn’t pull a Skills Taylor swifty and pretend to be sleepy.”

“And where are you sitting, Miss Bossy Boots?” Lucas retorts. It’s the first thing anyone has heard him say since they’d left the stadium; his infamous broodiness has been at its absolute peak.

“Next row back with Karen and Deb,” she answers, opening the door and ushering in the two mothers.

“Ladies!” she announces when they’re settled, clapping her hands together in maximum organizing mode as Skills pulls out from the kerb, “we have people at my place for a BBQ at 5pm tomorrow, which was _going_ to be about Nathan being back on the court, and then it was also about meeting Peyton’s so-called new guy, well it was since Monday when I _found out_ about Peyton’s new guy. And now that we know Peyton’s _new_ guy is in fact her _old_ guy, and her old guy has put a ring on her finger, we have not very long to turn a BBQ into a kickass engagement party for Hotshot and my P. Sawyer.”

Karen smiles and nods, casting a slightly anxious look at the back of her son’s head, but finding it difficult to ignore her excitement at the thought of a party, an _engagement_ party for the young woman she had always thought of as a daughter, and more recently as a wonderful friend.

“But, first of all,” Karen says, Brooke’s mention of the ring reminding her of something, “weren’t you going to tell us what you were all in a tizz about that ring for?”

Brooke sighs happily. “I don’t think anyone here was around then,” she ponders, casting her gaze around the van. “Oh yes … Deb! Do you remember when Peyton turned 16?”

“Oh, my Lord, Brooke,” Deb says, “aren’t you forgetting that back then I had a few issues with booze and pills and …?”

“Do you remember having Peyton over for dinner?” Brooke prompts. “Nathan asked you to invite her ‘cos she was miserable. Her Dad was away and didn’t come back for her birthday … again.”

“Oh, I _do_ remember that!” the blonde exclaims. “Nathan made a _huge_ deal out of it and made me promise to drink apple juice out of my wine glass, even if it was just for one night. She _was_ sad; she really missed her Dad.”

“It was more than that,” Brooke comments, a sad note in her voice.

“What was going on, Brooke?” Karen asks, more than a little curious about what had made Nathan so fiercely protective. This was all before she came to know Peyton, or Nathan really, and her only knowledge or experience of Peyton and Nathan around that time, or later actually, was that they were widely regarded as a bit of a train wreck.

“When Peyton’s Mom was killed, Larry promised P. she could have her Mom’s jewellery when she turned 16,” Brooke explains to set the scene.

“And then he wouldn’t give it to her? Is that why she was so upset that birthday?” Karen guesses.

“Worse, really,” Brooke explains. “When he phoned to say that he wasn’t coming back for her 16th, she said she understood, like she always did when she got those calls from him, and she said that they’d do something special when he next came back, but … but then she asked if would it be okay if she got her Mom’s jewellery out of Anna’s old music box, and started wearing it. She’d been looking forward to it for so long; for years. Every birthday she’d talk about how many years left until she could have her Mom’s jewellery and especially the engagement and wedding rings.”

“Did ... did Nathan get in touch with Larry and get Anna’s engagement ring?” Karen asks. “Is that why you were so surprised to see it?”

“No. He couldn’t have,” Brooke shakes her head. “The reason why Peyton was so sad for her 16th was that Larry said she couldn’t ever have the jewellery, because he’d thrown it all overboard on a trip a year or so earlier. He just … he regretted it right away, of course, but it was too late; it was gone.”

“Good God,” Karen exclaims. “That poor girl; she must have been devastated.”

Debs agrees, nodding in understanding. “She was. I didn’t know the real reason, but I remember that she was a mess. And Nathan; he was completely out of his depth, but so worried, so concerned. He just didn’t know what to do with her.”

“Neither did I,” Brooke adds. “She’d been building it up for years and then …”

“So then … the ring?” Deb prompts.

“He must have had it made,” Brooke says, shaking her head at Nathan’s amazing thoughtfulness.  “It’s … from that flash up on the screen of her hand ... it’s identical. Or so close you’d never know. I don’t know how he did it.”

“A photo, maybe,” Karen muses.

“That’s it!” Brooke agrees, making the connection. “She has a photo of Larry and Anna and her on her nightstand. The last one from before Anna died, so P must’ve been eight. Anna’s hugging P. from behind and her hands are in the front. He must have used that!”

Just as Brooke finishes, the van veers and pulls off the road.

“Seriously Skills?” she yells in disbelief. “You are _not_ pulling that stunt again!”

“Nah. Nah,” he answers, holding a hand up to reassure her. “I just ... I’ve got something in my eye. I just need a minute to get it out.”

 “Skills Taylor!” Karen laughs at him. “Are you getting teary-eyed?”

“Geeze Karen. What do you think I am?” he mutters, though he doesn’t turn to allow anyone in the rear seats to see his face.

Karen leans forward and pats his shoulder.

“I think you’re a fine young man with a heart of gold and a romantic soul, Skills. That’s what I think. You take your minute.”

 

When the newly engaged couple, plus musical sidekicks, walk out of New Brunswick county airport the next morning, the CEO of Clothes Over Bros is waiting by Nathan’s car for them.

“You, you, you,” she states, pointing to each of the men in turn, “go! Be at my place by 2 this afternoon with meat for the BBQ. Enough for 30 people. You,” she says, pointing to her best friend, “you’re coming with me.”

“But _I_ want her!” Nathan protests.

“You’ve _had_ her for - _apparently_ \- four months!” Brooke replies, doing her best to keep her ‘stroppy’ face on.

“Yeah, I have,” he says with a slightly smutty and very smug grin.

“Ew! So not what I meant!” Brooke says, jabbing him in the chest.

Nathan’s grin turns blissful as he contemplates his fiancée. “Best four months of my life,” he says, not taking his eyes off her.

“Really?” Peyton asks, running her hand up his arm. Maybe she’s playing insecure. Maybe she’s just angling to hear more compliments. He doesn’t really mind; he knows an opening when he sees it.

“Really,” he assures her, pulling her in for a long, passionate kiss, oblivious to their audience, by the end of which they are both thoroughly breathless. Kissing her, even though it was a little sedately, in front of a crowd of thousands was awesome. Kissing her _like this,_ anything _but_ sedately _,_ in front of her best friend? At last? In public? Magic!

“Oh. Okay. Now I’m officially jealous,” Brooke protests. “God! You two! Still … no arguments accepted, Hotshot. She’s with me until 2.”

“Why?” argues Nathan.

“Because,” Brooke declares with her foot tapping and her hands on her hips, “ _we_ have four months of gossip to catch up on, salads and desserts for 30 to prepare and, if I’m not mistaken, _you_ are probably going to whisk her off to live in the beach house with you any day now, so I need to make the most of every Peyton minute I have left.”

“Right. Um … we hadn’t talked about that,” he acquiesces.

“What? That we aren’t all carnivores and need salads to go with the meat?” Brooke teases, knowing full well that he means moving Peyton in with him.

“No. He means me moving in to the beach house,” Peyton chips in.

“Well, hello?!” Brooke laughs. “Isn’t that what married, or almost married, people do?”

“Yeah,” Peyton says, with a coy smile. “We just hadn’t talked about _when_.”

“Peyton Sawyer,” Nathan lampoons, dropping to one knee in front of her, “will you move in with me … pronto?”

“Nathan Scott, I’d be delighted,” she drawls back, playing up that Southern twang and clasping her hands in front of her in a damsel-like fashion.

“When’s pronto?” he persists, rising to his feet.

“We’ll get back to you on that,” replies Brooke before Peyton can even open her mouth. “Now scoot! My Peyton and I have things to do. Including talking about that morning I saw you two all up against the kitchen counter and how the hell _I_ never took on board that P was wearing different cloths and _you_ therefore got away with me not figuring out what was going on.”

 

They’re standing outside together, near the BBQ, at which Nathan is expertly grilling, while sipping the beer his fiancée (today’s word of choice for him) has just delivered to him, when Haley and Chris appear in the doorway between the living room and the deck, and an awkward lull opens in the group’s conversation. No one knows quite how this will go. Lucas has been there for some time, but he’s studiously kept away from the couple, and everyone in the yard has noticed it. Haley hasn’t seen either Nathan or Peyton since the game, and engagement, yesterday and everyone in the place knows that if Haley behaves the same way, this is going to get rather awkward.

Nathan’s ex-wife, apparently back to being her traditionally gracious self, walks straight across the backyard and pulls them both into a three-person hug. All three, with slightly teary eyes, look at each other, then laugh uproariously. Peyton’s the first to recover and speak.

“Foxy, are you …?”

“Very, very happy for you both, _that’s_ what I am,” Haley declares, still holding one of Peyton’s hands and one of her ex-husband’s.

“Really?” Peyton asks a little shakily.

Haley nods firmly. “Really. Truly.”

Nathan hugs her sideways and kisses her temple. “Thank you, Hales.”

Haley frees her hands and turns to Peyton. “ _You_ ,” she says, jabbing her friend lightly in the shoulder, “you look after him. And _you_ ,” she continues, repeating her jabbing action with Nathan, “you look after her. You two … way too much drama already!  This one’s gonna stick. I know it. Or you’ll answer to me!”

As she moves away, she leans into Peyton and takes her hand, giving it a good, appreciative squeeze. “And now I know why you _insisted_ on me waiting until after the BBQ to decide. And yes, I still want you to produce my album.”

After the last person has made their way past the generously laden table of steak, chicken drumsticks, dinner rolls, and a range of amazing looks salads (B. Davis really is rocking this whole cooking and entertaining thing), and everyone is sitting outside tucking in and commenting on how great everything tastes, Brooke takes a step into the middle of the misshapen circle of guests, and taps a knife against her glass.

“Alright, people, a little hush please.”

She waits a few moments for the conversation to die down, then takes a couple steps back so that she is on the outside of the ring of chairs, and everyone can see her as she speaks.

“Okay, I know it’s more customary for speeches to be with dessert, but there’s a couple of people who have to go in a little bit, so I’m taking the floor now.”

She stops to look across at Peyton and throws her a wink.

“I really didn’t think my P. Sawyer would beat me up the aisle, what with her history of commitment phobia and all,” she begins cheekily.

“Brooke!” Peyton protests, blushing and looking a little uncomfortable. She really doesn’t want to look around and see how Lucas is taking _that_.

“Don’t you Brooke me!” her friend replies with a raised eyebrow and an admonishing finger; she knows just what she’s saying, and there’s a few knowing guffaws around the crowd at that old throwback.

“The thing is,” the brunette continues, “I didn’t always think it, but now, in my old age, I really do believe everything happens for a reason. And now we all know _why_ P. Sawyer took her time about being ready for true love; it’s ‘cos the universe was making her wait until her _first_ love could come back to her.”

Peyton blinks away a tear at that, then finds her hand enveloped by Nathan’s. He winks at her quickly and his thumb, rubbing backwards and forwards over hers is so comforting that she thinks maybe Brooke’s right; maybe she _was_ waiting. Even if she didn’t know it.

“Not many of you here were around when these two drove each other crazy as teenagers. Some of you saw them drive each other the _bad_ kind of crazy towards the end of that, but only a select few of us saw them drive each the _good_ kind of crazy at the beginning and for what was quite a long time considering the young kids they were then. I was one of the lucky ones; I was there and I saw it, and - lucky old me - got to sit next it wanting to hurl when they were all loved up and seriously smoochy.”

Peyton rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but Nathan laughs out loud and pulls her in for a quick kiss.

“And all I can really say,” continues Brooke, “after those many, _many_ hours of being the third wheel on the Sawyer Scott Express, The Teenaged Years, is that I am so, so grateful that you two spent the last four months …  seriously people! _four months_? … sneaking around so that my poor innocent eyes didn’t have to see the Sawyer Scott Express, The X Rated Months.”

“Oh, my God, Brooke, I’m gonna kill you!” Peyton exclaims as a blush creeps up her cheeks.

“You might think twice before you keep something this big from your BFF next time, P.,” Brooke chides with a laugh.  “And, Nathan Scott, just so you know, if you make some dirty joke about _how_ big, you’ll _not_ be sleeping in my roomie’s room tonight!”

“But, seriously - and, by the way PS and NS, I promise when I make my Maid of Honor speech at your wedding, I won’t take this teasing approach; I’ll be nothing but classy – but as I was saying, I want you all to raise your glasses to Tree Hill’s newest affianced couple. You two look so happy, and I’m … we’re _all_ … so happy for you. And even though I will _pretend_ to be pissed for a bit longer, I completely understand why you kept this under wraps until you were sure. So … glasses up, people! To Neyton or Pathan, whichever you choose, but most of all to Nate and Peyt!”

“Yo, Nate!” calls Skills, when the chorus of well-wishes has quietened. “You never came close to getting busted? ‘Cos that was like the best sneaking around I ever saw … or maybe the best sneaking around I _never_ saw! You got like an invisibility cloak or something? And, dude, can I borrow it?”

Peyton looks at Nathan with a raised eyebrow and he chuckles and nods, knowing just what she’s thinking of.

“Hey Skills!?” she calls.

“Skinny Girl?”

“We did _nearly_ get busted one day.”

“Yeah? When? Who?”  
“ _’Ay me’_!” she laughs.  
“Say what?” He looks at her and then realizes what she’s saying. “Holy crap!” he splutters. “On the balcony? That day? You two were …? Man, I’m good!” he declares.

“How’d you figure that?” Nathan challenges. “You were _right there,”_ he emphasizes by pointing to the spot, _“_ and you didn’t have a clue!”

“Dude!” Skills banters back. “She left _you_ on that balcony to go have coffee and cake with _me_!”

Peyton laughs, raises her beer bottle and toasts to Skills, which he returns with a wide grin. “You and me, Baby Girl,” he says flirtatiously, “coffee and cake any time you like.”

“Skills, get your own girl!” Nathan plays along, pointing to his friend. “This one’s off the market!”

“Hey!” Peyton says, poking Nathan in the side, “don’t you deprive me of cake!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” declares Brooke. “Balcony? What balcony?”

With his beer bottle, Nathan points to the balcony above her head and she looks up, hands on hips, tapping her foot.  She spins to look at her roomie, face aghast.

“Peyton Sawyer! Really? On _my_ balcony?”

“Um … sorry?” Peyton shrugs, looking completely unrepentant.  
“You are not a bit sorry!” her best friend exclaims. “And oh, my God, I’m so proud! The student has surpassed the master!”

“Or in your case, mistress,” quips Nathan.

Brooke stops for a minute, then peers at Nathan with a knowing look, having put two and two together. “And exactly how long _was_ your sunburnt ass sore after that day, Hotshot? And did it _blister_? _Please_ tell me it blistered. Painfully.”

“Truce, Davis,” he replies smoothly then leans over to kiss his girl.

 

Later, as she is placing slices of cake on plates, Peyton spots that Lucas is outside alone, sitting on a step, his arms on his thighs, staring into space. Nathan takes a plate and gestures to her that he’s going to take his brother a piece of cake. The blond still hasn’t said a word to either of them since he arrived, and Nathan intends to put a stop to the silent treatment they’re getting. Peyton, though, takes the plate from him.

“Let me,” she says quietly.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” she says softly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly.

She takes the cake outside and sits next to her future brother in law, passing him the plate.

“Hey,” she says to him.

“Hey back,” he answers quietly, holding the plate up and taking a close look at the cake. “This looks like my Mom’s chocolate cake.”

“It is,” she smiles.

“Wow. She’s amazing. Just back from the game late last night, probably still a bit jetlagged from earlier in the week and she’s supplying cake,” he says with admiration.

“Oh, she didn’t make it,” Peyton explains. “It’s just her recipe.”

“Impossible,” he says with a small chuckle. “She has _never_ given this recipe to anyone. It’s … sacred.”

“Well, she gave it to me, albeit with the instructions rewritten as if someone Lily’s age was following them.”

“You made this?” Lucas asks, looking at it skeptically.

“I did,” she says, nudging his side to tell him off for his doubt. “There’s no salt in the recipe, so you’re perfectly safe.”

They share a slightly sad smile remembering that long-ago cookie dough fight.

“It’s actually pretty good,” Peyton assures him. “Maybe not quite as good as Karen’s, but I’m not the kitchen disaster zone I used to be.”

“You’re not a lot of things you used to be,” he says with a tone that is wistful but, she is pleased to note, not resentful.

“Well, if you mean I’m not angsty and lonely, drowning my sorrows with angry rock and sad little drawings then yeah … I guess you’re right.”

He looks at her searchingly. “You’re not mine, I guess is what I mean; what it all boils down to.”

“That’s been the case for a long time now, Lucas,” she reminds him gently. “And I think everyone we know knows how much I struggled with that.”

He closes his eyes and nods, whispering to the night air. “I guess I’m still struggling with it.”

“I … yeah … and, you know, there’s a little bit of me that wishes I could help you with that,” she says kindly.  “But we both know it’s something you need to work out yourself.”

“Like you did?” he asks, turning to look directly at her, with an unspoken acknowledgement of what he’d put her through, and how she’d had to deal with it pretty much alone.

“Hopefully _not_ like I did,” she replies lightly. “For me there was far too much crying and soul searching and anger and resentment and hoping and wishing.”

“I’m sorry,” he tells her sincerely. “For everything. I was …”

“It’s fine,” she stops him, holding her hand up a little. “We eventually get to where we need to be, right?”

“And where you need to be is with my brother?” he asks a little pointedly.

“Where I need to be is with _Nathan_ ,” she says firmly, “whether or not he is your brother is immaterial.”

“Is it?” he asks doubtfully, locking eyes with her.

“ _Absolutely_. And if you are suggesting for one second that I’m with him to spite you ...”

He doesn’t respond and she finds anger flaring, not because she wants to be angry at Lucas, but because she _must_ defend Nathan. And she can’t let that semi-accusation go.

“Lucas, _are_ you?” she presses, watching him intently. “Are you suggesting I’m setting myself up to spend my life with a second choice?”

He is still quiet and that _really_ annoys her.

“Because honestly?” she says jabbing the end of her index finger into his thigh, “that’s kind of _your_ signature move, not mine.”

“Hey! That’s a bit …”

“A bit what? _True?_ _I’ve_ chosen to be alone rather than with a second choice before and I’d do it again too,” she insists. “Nathan is _not_ my second choice. Nathan is my _only_ choice. My one _and only choice_.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “I was out of line.”

“Yeah. You were. You know … we’ve had the ‘it’s a small town and we all need to get along’ conversation before. It still applies.”

“I guess the boot’s on the other foot …” he begins, only to be interrupted.

“Lucas. The boot is _hardly_ on the other foot,” she argues. “You made your choice. You are _married_.”

“And you are going to be,” he replies wistfully. “After everything, you really will be Peyton Scott. If we went back to Junior year, I don’t think anyone would have picked this.”

“Maybe not,” she agrees with a little shrug. “And yet, now that we’re here … I have just the strongest feeling of inevitability and rightness.”

“No regrets?”  
“Not a one,” she says with conviction. “It was a long, hard road. But everything – _absolutely everything_ – brought me to here, and back to Nathan, and to knowing _with everything in me_ that this is where I belong.”

“Then I envy you,” he says with his own version of her little shoulder lift.

“Lucas, if that is really true,” she says with a frown, “if you don’t have that same sense …”

“Oh, it’s true,” he sighs.

“Then figure it out … because you cannot spend your life with regrets that big. It’ll eat away at your soul.”

“I don’t know how …”

“Ask her for time,” she says simply. “If she believes you’re really the one for her, she’ll give you time. And if she won’t give you time, she’s not the one for you.”

“You’d do that for Nathan?” he asks, his curiousity piqued.

“I would,” she says without hesitation. And he knows she’s telling the truth. Her truth. After all, she was always the one giving _him_ time, always the one prepared to be patient.

“It’s not … I don’t think it’s that easy for me,” he argues.

“Sure, it is.”

“ _I_ couldn’t give _you_ the time you asked for …” he reminds her, as if he needs to.

“And that’s because, in the end, I wasn’t the one for you. And Lucas? Just in case history repeats, just in case your heart tries to convince you to take the easy way out … the one for you; it’s not Brooke.  And … and this is a _real_ just in case your hearts veers off on a tangent … it’s not Haley either.”

“Or Lindsey.” It’s not really the first time he’s ever admitted it out loud, but he still he can’t believe it’s Peyton he says it to. Again. But then, he realizes, who else would he say it to?

“I can’t tell you that; I don’t know her well enough,” Peyton says. “But take the time to be sure.  And if it’s not Lindsey … then she’s out there, you know.”

“Can I ask you something?” he queries, looking intensely into her eyes.

“Sure. I may not answer, but you can ask.”

“You and Nathan, how did that ...?”

He watches a raft of emotions flit over her face, before a beautiful delicate flush chases them off, and she smiles.

“I think the details are ours, and just ours,” she replies quietly. “But in general terms, it started as something … temporary, I guess is the word ... and then it wasn’t temporary. And sometime after not being temporary anymore, it became everything.”

“I don’t really understand how you could risk …”

“Maybe it’s because of the no Mom and absent Dad thing … but what I figured out is that, for me, it’s not about what people _say_. It’s about what people _do_.”

“You’re gonna need to explain.”

“Lucas, my Dad always _said_ he loved me, but he was never _there,_ and he kept going back out to sea. Nathan may not be poetic, he may not be the guy you think of as having the perfect turn of phrase, although … actually … these days, he often does. But he has _been there_ for me and he has supported me, unconditionally, for a really long time now. Since Senior year, he has _not once_ let me down. And for the last few months, he has loved _me_ , not a fairytale version of me, but the real me.”

He nods, understanding what she isn’t saying. “I made you a lot of promises that I didn’t keep,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “I’m not gonna disagree with that.”

“Will you ever call me Luke again?” he asks suddenly, after a few moments of silence.

“Sure, I will,” she smiles, then nudges her shoulder in his arm, “when you’re that guy again.”

“Do you have a date?”

“For the wedding? Not yet. We’ll pinpoint it in the next couple of days. Everything’s been a bit of whirlwind so we should catch our breath, I think … so maybe six months or so. Why?”

“I … think I might head off ... travel with my Mom and Andy and Lily for a bit,” he wonders aloud, then smiles ruefully at her. “See if I can find that guy again.”

“Will you be contactable?”

“I … don’t think so. At least, not to Tree Hill and its residents,” he adds.

“Well, when we have a date, I’ll let your Mom know. I guess she’ll always be able to pass it on.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to be there, at your wedding  … the way you were at mine, I mean,” he clarifies. “I ... I guess I’m only just understanding what a huge ask it was for me to want you there and put you in that position. I’m obviously not as big a person as you were ... are …”

“Well … we’ll see, won’t we?” she says as she stands and takes the plates from Lucas, who also stands. He leans and kisses her on cheek.

“I do want you to be happy, Peyton.”

“Well good,” she grins. “’Cos I am.”

She looks at him, nods, transfers their plates to one hand, places her hand on his cheek, leans in and places a very brief, very careful kiss on his lips.

“I want you to be happy too, Lucas. And I think that starts with you finding that guy again … so go to it!”

She goes back inside, knowing instinctively that he will slip out the side gate and that no one will see him again before he heads out of town with his mother, sister and Andy.

She has a sense that Nathan is avoiding her for rest of the night but she’s busy chatting and laughing with the remaining guests. Then she’s enjoying a winding down period as she and Brooke do the last of the dishes and tidying up together, after Nathan has quietly, wordlessly, gone into her bedroom and closed the door.

When she turns in - after Brooke teases her about being able to have Hotshot in her bed _legitimately_ for the first time, to which Peyton replies that Brooke’s many trips to the Big Apple may have been terribly convenient, really, but since when is it up to Brooke Davis to decide what’s legit or not - Nathan is awake but distant.

“You okay?” she asks him, curling against his side, running her palms up the chest she loves to admire.

“I’m … not sure,” he answers uncertainly.

“What’s up?”

“I saw that kiss,” he admits quietly.

“What kiss?”

“You kissed Luke. What was that?”

“That was goodbye,” she replies as she rests her head on his chest and lifts his arm to wrap it around her own waist. “It must have lasted all of two seconds.”

“I don’t think the length is the point …” he counters.

“No. But the fact that it was goodbye is the point. Nate … tell me you get that?” she asks, leaning back to search his face.

“I get it.”

“But?”

“That whole Lucas and Peyton epic romance thing …”

“I really thought we were done with this. Do I need to remind you that, in effect, I said no to him? And it took me all of about two seconds to say yes to you?”

“I’ve never been this guy!” he says with a harsh sigh. “I’ve never been the insecure, needing reassurance kind of guy. I don’t get it. I _know_ you love me.”

“You know how you’ve said that the Lucas choosing other girls over me has made me doubt myself?”

“Mmmm.”  
“You think maybe you feeling like you were never good enough for Haley has made _you_ doubt yourself? ‘Cos you never used to do that second-guessing thing.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “It’s not that I doubt _you_.”

“You know what?” she says, thoughtfully, “I’m thinking Monday.”

“Monday?”

“Well, you have to head to Charlotte Tuesday, right? So, Monday I’m taking the day off. We’re going to set a date. We’re going to find and book the venue. We’re going to get it all sorted in one mad, frantic day. Maybe when it’s all booked, and you know I’m not bailing, you’ll stop that insecure thing. Though I have to say … it is a bit cute.”

“I do not do _cute_! And by the way, even if it’s all booked, you _could_ still do the runaway bride thing.”

“Nathan Scott! Fine. Let’s go to city hall on Monday instead and do this thing.”

“You’d do that?” he asks in disbelief, pushing her back a bit so he can really look into her eyes.

“Sure,” she shrugs. “I just want to be your wife. The trimmings are just trimmings. I don’t care how.”

“I know you’re not the meringue dress kind of girl, Sawyer, but don’t you want _some_ of the … trimmings?”

“What I want is to be married to Nathan Scott. And I love the amazing guy you’ve become. I really, really do ... but _my_ Nathan Scott is self-assured and cocky and a little bit arrogant. _My_ Nathan Scott is not insecure about other guys. And I don’t want you to feel like that. If going down to city hall and making it official on Monday will _stop_ you feeling like that, then let’s do it.”

“How about we do both?” he suggests with a grin.

“City hall and a big party thing?”

“City hall on Monday just for us. Don’t tell anyone. Traditional wedding and what not in six months for everyone one else?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I kinda like that idea,” he nods.

“Well, we have kinda rocked the whole secret thing. And two wedding anniversaries each year? That adds up to a lot of nice dinners for us and you buying a lot of expensive presents for me!”

“Oh, my God, I’ve created a monster. And _you_ have been living with Brooke Davis for too long. You’re starting to sound like her.”

“Just as well I’m moving in with you next weekend then. Oh, my God, you do realise if we do this, we’ll be married but living apart for the first few days …”

“Only technically. I’ll just stay here when we get back from Charlotte.”

“We?”  
“Well there’s no way I’m going back to Charlotte without you if it’s day two of being Mr and Mrs.”

“Hmmm. First few nights of wedded bliss in your Charlotte bachelor pad or here with Brooke in the house? I think I’ll stay at the beach house when we’re here, thank you very much. And FYI, it _does_ mean two anniversary presents every year.”

“Yeah. I guess it does,” he concedes.

“And all I had to do was kiss your brother for two seconds,” she teases.

“Three seconds. And so not funny.”

“A little bit funny?” she asks, eyebrow raised, tracing a finger over his pec.  
“Not today. After Monday, after you’re Mrs _Nathan_ Scott, then it might be a _little_ bit funny. But,” he goes on to warn, “I wouldn’t recommend you test it out again.”

“So ... if you’re making an honest woman of me Monday, you should go to your place tomorrow night and I should stay here.”

“Um ... why?”

“Bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding?”

“Except that I’m not even remotely superstitious. And neither are you.”

“So, you’re staying here then?”  
“Damn straight,” he says firmly.

“In my bed?”

“I’m in it now. And I’ll be in it tomorrow night. Just try moving me,” he challenges.

“Well then get busy, fiancé!” she instructs, laughing.

“What?”

“Geeze, Nate. You’re in my bed wearing,” she peeks under covers to confirm her suspicions, “absolutely nothing, looking all sexy and good enough for me to marry ... and here I am … wearing ... well ... a little bit more than nothing but not much … what do you need? A written invitation?”

“You’re a vixen. Promise me that won’t change after Monday.”

“Baby just keep being you and it’ll _never_ change,” she purrs.

She’s expecting him to pin her to the mattress after a comment like that, but instead he smiles at her in a lazy sort of way, then throws the sheet back and gets out of the bed.

“Where are you …” she begins, but he shushes her and tells her he’s got something for her. He goes to her dresser, affording her an awesome view of his naked back and … hmmm … she can virtually feel the lust rising.  
“What?” she asks.

He picks up a flat box, with a green ribbon around it, from the dresser and comes back to the bed, passing it to her with a coy smile while he rearranges the sheets over himself. She looks at him, puzzled, but he just tells her to hurry up and open it already.

“Well I know it’s not my engagement ring,” she says, holding her hand out to admire her ring yet again.

“Nope,” he says, reaching for her hand and placing a kiss on the palm. “It’s not. C’mon, open it.”

She sighs and pulls the ribbon, then removes the lid to find the back of a photo frame. When she removes it from the box and turns it over, she bursts into laughter at first, then finds she’s crying just a little.

“How did you …?” she asks with a mix of tears and laughter in her voice.

“I didn’t even tell her or ask her. She thought of it and gave it to me when she arrived this afternoon.”  
Peyton looks again at the photo of seven-year-old Nathan and Peyton, each with an ice cream cone in hand, each holding their cone out to the other to try; big, dopey grins on their faces and laughing eyes, completely oblivious to Deb’s pointed camera.

Peyton places the frame and box on the night stand then reaches to take his cheeks between her hands, placing a quick kiss on his mouth.

“I told you she’d have a photo,” she says smugly.

He rolls his eyes and mutters that he already knows she’s going to be right about everything for the rest of their lives; she doesn’t need to be right about everything in the past as well.

“I was right about you needing to get busy, Scott,” she murmurs into his ear. This time, she does get pinned on her back.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their big day. Peyton walks down the aisle with an unexpected guest. But what's the Ravens' locker room got to do with anything?

**Six Months Later**

She’s doing just one quick last check in the mirror, but really, she knows everything’s perfect. Then her best friend gently turns her round and takes her hands.

“P. Sawyer,” she sighs, “I swear you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen in my life. I’m so glad you went traditional.”

“Brooke,” she sighs, slightly teary, as she looks in the mirror again. “This dress is amazing … perfect. Thank you.”

“Well … modelling it after your Mom’s was your idea.”

“It won’t be our last joint project, B., will it?” Peyton asks with a nostalgic tone.

“Hell no! Just ‘cos you got your guy, you don’t get to ditch me!” Brooke exclaims.

Peyton turns her friend’s hand over and rubs her fingertips lightly over the engagement ring Brooke is sporting.

“You got your guy too,” she says with a smile and a gentle nudge of her elbow.

“Are we too messed up, Peyton?” Brooke asks, with a worried little frown. “I’m engaged to Julian, your ex. You’re marring Nathan, also your ex, who I made a freaking sex tape with …”

“Nope,” says Peyton with a laugh, “we’re _just_ messed up enough. But please, please don’t ever mention that sex tape in front of Nathan again. Every time you do, he gets this completely dirty smirk on his face and suggests a threesome and it’s just getting …”

“A bit old? Yeah. Julian has a very similar joke whenever anyone mentions that you two dated and lived together. And it’s getting a bit old from him too.”

“I think it’s time for a pinky pact, B. Davis.”

The two link pinkies and Brooke looks at Peyton curiously.

“Next time,” Peyton begins, “either of those boys of ours suggest a threesome, we tell them we’re ditching them both and running away together.”

Brooke cackles loudly. “You got a deal, bestie.”

“Can I go too?” comes a familiar, though not heard lately, voice from the doorway. They turn and, having seen who it is, look back at each other, slightly alarmed.

“It’s okay,” he says, holding his hands up in the conciliatory gesture that they’ve seen so many times before, “not here to make trouble. Just want to see my little brother get hitched, then I’m heading off again. Brooke, can you give us a minute?”

Brooke looks at Peyton with her eyebrow raised in question and waits for Peyton’s nod. As she walks past Lucas, Brooke elbows him. “You’ve got about six minutes Lucas, then my Peyton’s walking up that aisle.”

He nods his understanding then, when Brooke has departed, he turns back to the bride.

“You look so beautiful,” he says to her, shaking his head in awe.

“Thanks,” she smiles, “I kinda feel it.”

“Wow,” he says, his hand coming up to his face in mock shock. “Peyton Sawyer taking a compliment gracefully? Am I being _Punk’d_? Or is this Tree Hill alt universe?”

“Must be if you’re back,” she retorts with a laugh. “So … how are you doing on finding that guy?” she asks, referring back to their last conversation, six months ago at the BBQ turned engagement party.

“I’m getting there,” he nods.

“Good. So, you’re just here for this, then going again?”

“Yeah. Mom and Andy and Lily are here too. They’re staying a few days, but I’m heading to New York right after the ceremony.”

“Lindsey?”

“Yeah,” he answers lightly, pushing his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

“Lucas, that’s great!” she declares genuinely.

“Not really. It’s just to sign the divorce papers.”

“Oh … I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he says a little wistfully. “She didn’t deserve all this. Peyton, I know she was awful to you but that’s all on me. She’s not really like that. At least, she wasn’t … before … just … I guess me being so stupid, and then distant with her … she knew deep down I wasn’t in it. That’s why she was so …”

“Luke. Stop.” she says, her hand resting on his jacketed forearm for a moment. “It’s all in the past. Just … are you okay?” she asks, concern lacing her voice.

“I’m getting there,” he repeats. “And … you just called me Luke.”

“Well. You seem like you, almost. And you really have to leave again?”

“Yeah. But I’ll be back,” he assures her.

“Can you … be back in seven months or so?” she asks a little coyly.

“Maybe. Why?”  
She smiles secretively and realisation dawns on him. He steps forward and pulls her into a firm hug.

“You’re making me an uncle,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” she says contentedly. “But you can’t say anything. No one else knows yet. Not even Brooke; just Nate and I.”

“How is he?”

“Great. Perfect. So excited.”

“And so he should be,” he grins. “He’s got the perfect girl and now he’s gonna have the perfect kid.”

“And next month his team is playing in the conference semis,” she adds proudly.

Luke shakes his head, smiling. “Wow, you really _are_ the perfect girl. Standing there in your _gorgeous_ no doubt Brooke Davis custom designed wedding dress, looking like a supermodel and talking about basketball!”

“Two minutes!” calls Brooke, popping her head around the doorway. “The guys are in place, P. Wait ‘til you see your groom. My God, he looks amazing. That boy can wear a tux!”

“Well it is a one off, made to measure B. Davis tux, after all,” Peyton laughs. “Right,” she continues, moving towards the doorway, “let’s do this thing, Brooke.”

As she passes him, Luke catches her hand.

“Peyton … isn’t your Dad walking you down the aisle?” he asks, finding it hard to believe, despite years of such things, that Larry would miss an event this important to his daughter.

“Oh,” she says, tearing up a little, “no. He …”

“Couldn’t get here? Seriously? For his daughter’s wedding day?”

Brooke steps in, putting her hand on Luke’s suit jacket sleeve. “Luke,” she says softly, “Larry died in January.”

“Oh God,” he exclaims, turning back to Peyton, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t …”

“It’s okay, Luke,” she replies. “I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he continues. “Did you … was …?”  
She smiles, a little sadly, but not overwhelmingly so. “Honestly, Luke, I’m okay. I miss him, my Dad, of course. And yeah, he was going to walk me down the aisle, but he’s with me. I know that. And when it happened, Nathan was amazing. He took care of everything, including me.”

**_January_ **

_He’s almost chuckling to himself as he pushes the door to the studio open. It’s close to lunch time and just half an hour ago, he’d sent her a text apologizing and saying he wouldn’t make it back until tonight. He’d been gone just over a week on a three-game stretch – all wins – and had in fact pulled back into town just before he texted. But he wanted to surprise her. Her text reply had been, as always, completely understanding, and had come with the PS of a very sexy Peyton Sawyer promise that she’d be_ ready and waiting _for him when he got in. He’s got a couple of coffees from her favourite place, a chicken and salad sandwich for her, because she keeps saying she wants to be healthier, and a burger for him, which he knows she’ll want to steal, and which he also knows he’ll let her have. It’s just as well he likes chicken and salad sandwiches._

_He stands in the doorway watching her for a moment. She hasn’t noticed his arrival, which is unusual, but then he sees she’s on the phone. She’s standing, leaning back just a little against the desk, listening intently. As he takes a step or two further into the room, he watches the phone, as if in slow motion, fall out of her hand and she pales and gasps, her right hand falling to her side as she bends forward in pain. He tries to move towards her but feels like the air around him is liquid. It’s like walking in the pool while he was rehabbing, but a hell of a lot harder. He watches her try to draw breath then the slow motion turns to an agonizing frame by frame that he can do nothing to prevent; she crumples slowly, her knees buckling and her body dropping to the floor. She’s still grasping her side, and her chest is heaving as if she can’t get any air in. Dammit. His legs just won’t move fast enough, and it feels like hours before he’s next to her, sliding the food bags and the coffees onto the desk where the paper cups rock to and fro before somehow settling, and dropping to his knees in front of her._

_“Babe?”_

_He wrests her face up to meet his eyes. He’s seen panic before; in the eyes of every kid that was in that tutor room when Jimmy Edwards was waving a gun around; in Haley’s face as he was diving into the river to haul his uncle out of a sinking limo; in this incredible woman’s eyes when she was coping with the loss of her birth mother and again at that rehab session more than a year ago, when she had a full-on panic attack. And this is panic again. But worse. Her pupils are huge. Her breathe is so short he’s convinced she’ll faint._

_“Peyton!” he shouts to snap her out of it._

_She shakes her head quickly; she’s trying to haul herself back, but she can’t. Vaguely, as if from a mile away, he hears a voice and realizes it’s coming from the phone; someone is still on the line. He grabs it while tucking her into his chest, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and holding her as tight as he can without hurting her._

_“Hello?” he asks, his heart beating fast._

_“Hello? Who’s this?” comes a woman’s voice._

_“Nathan Scott. Who’s this?”_

_“Mr Scott. Is Miss Sawyer there?”  
“Yes, but she can’t speak right now. What’s going on? Who are you?”_

_“Mr Scott. Are … what is your relationship to Miss Sawyer?”_

_“I’m her … fiancé.” Husband, he thinks to himself. Husband is what he wants to say. It’s the truth, after all. But it’s not the truth for public consumption. God, I can’t wait until I can say that aloud, he thinks._

_“Mr Scott. My name is Linda. I’m at UNC Rex in Raleigh.”  
“The hospital?”_

_“Yes. I … is Miss Sawyer alright?”_

_“Not really. What’s happening?”_  
“We … we have her father here. Lawrence Sawyer.”  
“Larry? Is he okay? Why is he there?”  
“He came in with a colleague who was unwell, but while they were waiting in the ED, Mr Sawyer had a severe heart attack.”  
“Okay,” he says, with an unlikely calm settling over him. “We’re on the way. It’s going to take us a couple of hours, but we’ll leave right away.”  
“Mr Scott. Please … there’s no need for you to rush,” she says though it somehow doesn’t sound reassuring.

_“He’s stable then?” he asks hopefully. “You’ve ...”  
“Mr Scott. I’m sorry. I was just telling Miss Sawyer. You … please don’t rush unduly … because … I’m sorry, but it’s too late. Mr Sawyer passed away. We did everything we could, but it was a very severe attack. He was gone in minutes.”_

_He didn’t think he could hold her any tighter, but he does. He slides from kneeling to sitting and hauls her into his lap, wrapping both arms around her and pressing her into his chest until he knows there’s no air at all between them._

_“Okay. Linda?”_  
“Yes.”  
“Thank you. We’ll be there as soon as we can without taking any risks. Who should we ask for?”

_“You can ask for me. Linda Everitt. I’ve just come on and I’ll be here for the rest of the day; until 9 or 10 tonight.”_

_“What can we expect?” he asks, thinking he’ll want to prepare Peyton for whatever she’s going to have to do.  
“Um. You’ll need to formally identify Mr Sawyer. There’ll be some paperwork. I can have details ready for you for everything else. It … it might be helpful to think about which funeral director you want to use so we can contact them to … well … bring Mr Sawyer home?”_

_“Alright. I’m hanging up now, Linda. Thank you. We’ll see you later today.”_

_He has no words for her. But he knows she doesn’t want them anyway. He just sits and holds her and rocks her and presses his lips to her hair every few minutes and feels the front of his shirt get wetter and wetter and wetter._

_He has no idea how long it takes, maybe an hour, maybe less, maybe more, until she shakes her head, straightens up a little and meets his eyes with a tremulous smile._

_“Thank you,” she whispers, her fingers moving to his shirtfront and gripping the wedding ring he wears on a chain under his shirt._

_“Anything you need;_ everything _you need, I’m here, alright?”_

_Her gaze drops again but she nods a little. He carefully pulls the long chain she wears tucked into her own shirt, and rubs her wedding ring between his fingers, then stands, pulls her up with him, props her on the desk and walks around it, making sure that his hand doesn’t lose contact with hers for a second, grabs her bag, digs around for the studio keys, then walks back around the desk to her._

_“Alright. This is what we’re doing. We’re driving to Raleigh. When we get there, we’ll have some formalities to get through.”_

_She nods as fresh tears spilled over. “Forms and ID, right?” Her voice is barely there._

_“Forms and ID,” he repeats back to her. “I’ll do it all with you. Now … we need to walk. Can you walk?”_

_She exhales sharply. “I’m not an invalid!”_

_“I know that, babe. But I do think you might be in shock a little. I can carry you if you need me too.”_

_She shakes her head and takes her big, floppy bag from him, then takes a few steps. She doesn’t get far before she wobbles and sways._

_“Alright you stubborn …” he mutters, before stepping next to her and wrapping an arm around her waist. “If you won’t be carried, you’ll at least be supported.”_

_She looks at him in confusion when he stops at a highway diner after they’ve been on the road for what seems only a few minutes._

_“Shock. You need something hot and sweet,” he explains. “And I left the food and coffees I had on your desk.” A soft smile plays on her lips for a moment and she grabs his hand._

_“I have something hot and sweet,” she says. “I have you.”  
He rolls his eyes at her and shakes his head._

_“For the_ shock _,” he repeats unnecessarily. “I’m getting you some tea, with lots of sugar. You coming in or waiting here?”_

_“I … do you mind if I wait here?”_

_“Whatever you want. I’ll be as fast as I can. Alright?”_

_She nods. He takes great care to place her phone in her hand and to lock the car doors, and true to his word, he’s back in minutes, placing a hot sweet tea in a takeaway cup into her hands, along with a still warm blueberry muffin and a small bar of chocolate. She looks at them as if they are lumps of coal but surprises herself by obeying him when he insists that she drink and eat. And she does feel a little better, a little less like throwing up, when she’s finished._

_At the hospital, he holds her hand while she fills in forms, and holds her up while she stands next to a flat gurney and nods her head just once when a young and compassionate nurse gently pulls the white sheet back._

_He gives her the details of the best funeral director in Tree Hill. He draws her outside into the hospital’s garden, stands with his back against a tree and holds her against his chest, gently combing his fingers through her hair, while she sobs anew. He wipes the pads of his thumbs under her eyes and across her cheeks before they walk into a smart looking motel and grab a room for the night. He holds her up under a hot shower as it washes away the tear stains on her cheeks, and he dries her shivering body and wraps her in a bathrobe and carries her to the bed when she is racked with more sobbing._

_He holds her wordlessly all night, neither of them sleeping a wink. And, when she turns her exhausted face to him as the first weak light of morning peeks through the blinds, and says “Nathan, I need you”, he knows what she means and he slowly, carefully, tenderly unwraps her from that robe and he loves her._

_He deals with the funeral director when they are back in Tree Hill. He takes her with him to his next two games, so she isn’t left alone. He stands next to her at the service in the chapel where Anna Rebecca Sawyer was also farewelled, and at the graveside where her father is laid next to her mother._

_He helps her sort out Larry’s house. He laughs with her when she finds things that she’d forgotten ever existed but that Larry had stashed away in drawers or cupboards. He cries with her when she finds a small stash of photos of her as a grade schooler before Anna’s death, with both of her adoptive parents: the three of them laughing at the camera; piggybacked by her Dad; cuddled by her Mom; half hidden by a chocolate thickshake with two straws in it and both her and Anna sucking until their cheeks drew in; her and Anna sat at a table with crayons and papers in front of them; her and Larry fooling around with soapy water while they washed the Comet. She swears she’s never seen any of them before._

_He arranges for Brooke to stay with her for a few days when he has no choice but to go on the road for another three-game stretch and she refuses to leave the beach house saying she needs to be with_ their _things. He arrives home with a small box of stunning chunky silver photo frames and sits with her while she inserts those family photos they’d found into the frames. He clears a space and helps her arrange them within the floor to ceiling shelving in the beach house living room._

 _He walks with her on the beach. He lets her beat her hands into his chest then fall asleep on that same chest. He holds her when she breaks down again a month later. And when she tries to thank him, he just shakes his head and kisses her and says ‘Anything you need._ Everything _you need.’_

 

Lucas tilts his head to one side and squints a little.

“Peyton Sawyer,” he says, “you are the strongest woman I know and if you would allow me to, I would be honoured to walk you down the aisle to my brother.”

She grins at him, and he can see flashes of her at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. And in every single one of those images, she is amazing, but she has never been more beautiful than when she tucks her hand into his arm, throws him a saucy wink and says “C’mon then, Rakeboy. Let’s go get me hitched.”

As she proceeds down the aisle, Brooke Davis perfectly walks the line between elegant and sexy.  She doesn’t know why it was so important that her dress, and various other trimmings, including some beautiful beading work on the back of Peyton’s dress, be turquoise. But Peyton had insisted and told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t to tell Nathan about her colour choices. But as Brooke nears the altar, Nathan has the biggest smile on his face, and his blue eyes have got that naughty twinkle in them that he gets whenever Peyton whispers something dirty in his ear. Brooke just knows that the turquoise is some kind of private joke between the two. She’ll get it out of Peyton eventually.

When Nathan sees who’s at his bride’s side as she pauses in the doorway at the end of the church, he throws a quick look at Brooke, who nods discreetly, and he knows it’s all going to be just fine. He’s said countless times before that he wasn’t in AP English with the Haleys and the Lucases and the Peytons. Nor was Brooke. But when it comes to _real life_ , they both get symbolism. And his brother being the one that hands Peyton over to him after everything they’ve all experienced? It’s significant in a way that seems perfectly Tree Hill.

She’s beautiful. She’s always beautiful. In jeans and a band tee; in a cocktail dress and diamonds; in running shorts and a sweaty top; in nothing at all but a sheen on her skin after he’s woken her up _way_ too early on a Sunday morning, despite her grumbles, and slipped into her, making her call out his name and dig her fingers into his back (especially then); in one of his old Gilmore T-shirts that is almost threadbare with a plastic stick in her hand asking him if he thinks he’s ready to be a Dad (oh God, especially _then_ ). But as she walks towards him now, she is beyond beautiful. She is perfect.

He watches her walk and, as she nears him, gets the tiniest peek of shoe from beneath the floor length hem of her dress. And oh. My. God. She’s trying to kill him.

Luke bends and places a perfectly chaste kiss on her cheek, then, while she’s passing her flowers to Brooke, he steps forward to hug his brother and shake his hand.

“Take care of each other,” he says to them both, before slipping back a few rows and taking a seat with his mother and sister.

Nathan takes her hands, shaking his head a little and leans in to murmur near her ear.

“You wait ‘til today to break out the turquoise stilettos you promised me months ago?”

She pulls back just a little so she can meet his gaze, flashes her eyes at him and squeezes his hands a little.

“In my defense,” she demurs, “they were really hard to find. I had to buy white and send them off to be dyed.”

“You did that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

“Including saying _I do_ in a few minutes?”

No one can hear their words, but the gaze they’re sharing speaks volumes to their gathered friends and family, who watch as she leans in to him and speaks just a few words close to his cheek.

“Let’s make me Mrs Scott,” she whispers to him, “again.”

They break apart just as the minister clears his throat.

“Are we ready, folks? Peyton?” he smiles.

“Soooo ready,” she says as the minister looks at her.

“Nathan?” the minister asks.

Nathan looks her up and down once more. “Are you kidding?” he says loud enough for everyone to hear and with a wide grin. “You think I’m letting this one get away now?”

“Excellent,” laughs the minister. “In that case … dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …”

 

Somehow, it isn’t until he hands her into the decorated car to head to the reception that he actually sees the back of that incredible dress. The simplicity of the front had taken his breath away; sleeveless with a simple V neck, cut just low enough to hint but modest enough to be elegantly bridal, beautifully fitted to her body until it reaches her hips then just enough fabric to sway and flow as she walks. Not glaring white but not off white either.

But when she steps in front of him as he opens the car door for her, he _really_ sucks his breath in. A plunging V in the back of the dress that ends below her tiny waist, the edges of the fabric adorned with stunningly intricate beading, in shades of white with, of course, delicate turquoise accents.

He catches her waist in his large hands, stopping her from moving forward into the car, leans forward and places a series of kisses down her spine.

“You’re incredible,” he says against her skin. “How can you look so completely classy and elegant and still be sending me all these damned sexy little messages?”

She turns, takes his face in her hands and places a lingering kiss on his perfect lips.

“I guess I’m just one big contradiction in terms,” she laughs.

“Mmm. But you’re _my_ contradiction in terms, Peyton Sawyer.”

“Scott,” she retorts with a satisfied smile. “Peyton Scott.”

A few minutes later she’s turning to him, looking very confused.

“Nate, the limo driver’s going the wrong way.”

“No, he’s not,” he says amiably.

“He is,” she protests. “The reception’s at _Margo’s On The River_. That’s East. He’s going West.”

She’s puzzled at his lack of concern, but he just smirks at her in a knowing way.

“Nathan Scott, what are you up to?” she asks, realizing that he’s got that _I know something you don’t know_ look in his eyes.  
He wordlessly reaches into his tux jacket and pulls out a single key, which he presses into her hand.

“What’s this?”  
“A key,” he shrugs.  
“I can see that! A key to what?”

“Well, it’s kind of a coincidence,” he muses, “given that you’re wearing turquoise stilettos when that was the result of a conversation we originally had about fantasies.”

“Fantasies?” she asks, turning to look at him curiously.

“Borrowing Skills’ key to the boys’ locker room?” he says suggestively, his palm finding its way to rest on her bare back.

“You didn’t!?” she gasps.

“Babe, clearly I did. And we’re not expected at the reception for at least a couple of hours.”

“Oh, my God, what sort of look am I gonna get from Skills when we get there?” she gasps, before breaking into giggles.  
“I have no idea,” he says smugly, “but _I’m_ gonna get a jealous one.”

“Don’t be …” she begins modestly before he interrupts her with a long kiss.  
“Every man in that room will envy me,” he says when they eventually part.

“Nathan …”

“And every girl will envy you,” he teases.

“Oh, of course! They’ll envy me turning up to my wedding reception with my dress all wrinkled and …?”

“I thought of that,” he counters evenly.

“Oh yeah? What exactly did you think?”  
“I thought to hide a coathanger in a convenient spot in the boys’ locker room.”

“That’s … amazingly good planning.”  
“Impressed?”

“A little, yeah.”  
“Aww, just a little? I thought that was kind of genius.”

“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised by you being able to plan ahead for a quickie.”  
“Babe,” he drawls against her neck, “we have two hours; there is not going to be anything even remotely quick about what I do to you in that locker room. Even that phenomenal dress is coming off slowly.”

“I think you’re right.”  
“Always,” he smirks. “But about what specifically?”  
“Every girl in that room envying me.”

“And in sixty years – actually, in _fifty-nine and a half years_ \- when we’re celebrating our diamond anniversary,” he continues, his lips against her collar bone, alluding back to that proposal speech, “everyone in this town will envy us.”

“You sound very sure,” she whispers, leaning back a little to make him look at her. “I mean … all that history, and the messes, and how long it took us to …”

“I _am_ very sure,” he nods, interrupting her gently. “Never been surer of anything, babe. We’re already doing it and we’re going to keep doing it.”  
“ _Doing_ it?” she asks with an arched brow.

“That too,” he smirks, “but I mean we’re already rising above all that. And that’s not going to change. The only thing that’s going to change is that I’m going to love you more every …”

She cuts him off, her palms on his cheeks, her lips on his.

“I love you,” she breathes against his mouth. “And in sixty years, I’ll be loving you still.”

“Good.”  
“Although …”  
“Although?”  
“When we’re eighty something? Maybe not in the boys’ locker room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. My first ever multi chapter ff. Thanks for sticking with it.


End file.
